East Meets West
by sparkle7311
Summary: Two detectives from two very different backgrounds join forces to catch a killer.
1. Chapter 1

**East Meets West**

 **Two detectives from two very different backgrounds join forces to catch a killer.**

 **Chapter One**

Detective Kenneth Hutchinson, known as Hutch to his friends and co-workers, handed the attendant his boarding pass as he stepped through the archway into the plane. The Stewardess, a perky blonde with a trim little figure and brown eyes, smiled at him brightly.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Hutchinson." She glanced at his ticket and said, "Fourth seat on your left. Next to the window."

"Thank you," Hutch said politely as he strolled down the aisle. He paused long enough to open the overhead compartment and shove his carry-on bag into the storage space above the seats. With a sigh, he settled into his seat, tucking his long legs into the narrow space between his seat and the one in front of him.

Coach seats weren't made for men his size, but a seat in the first class section of the plane was an unnecessary luxury that the Bay City Police Department wasn't about to spring for.

Not that Hutch minded. He had grown up in a privileged family where the little extras that money could buy were taken for granted. His father was a successful plastic surgeon in Duluth, Minnesota who had expected his only son to follow in his footsteps. When Hutch rebelled against his father's demands, it led to a falling out that left him estranged from his family.

Instead, Hutch married his college sweetheart and moved as far away from Duluth as he could get. All the way to California. He finished college, switching to a major in criminal justice, and then entered the police academy as soon as he graduated. He graduated from there at the top of his class and joined the Bay City Police Department where he had risen through the ranks, becoming one of the youngest Detectives in the department after only five years on the force.

Unfortunately, being a police officer's wife was not what his wife had in mind when she married into the prestigious Hutchinson family. She divorced Hutch after two years of marriage and retuned to Duluth. Fortunately, there had been no children born of their union. That had been another inconvenience that the former Mrs. Hutchinson had no time for.

Following the stewardesses instructions, Hutch fastened his seat belt as the plane taxied down the runway preparing for take off. After a smooth lift-off, the plane was in the air. As soon as the seat belt sign went off, Hutch unfastened his seat belt and relaxed in his seat.

For the past six months, Hutch had been part of a task force trying to track down a serial killer preying on the homeless and more destitute citizens of the city. Five weeks ago the murders had suddenly stopped. Then a week ago, reports had filtered in that made it look like their killer had relocated to the east coast. New York City to be exact.

Captain Dobey had assigned Hutch to be the detective who would go to New York City and work with the department there to see if they were both after the same unknown subject, or "unsub", as they were known in police jargon.

The flight to New York was a long one, and the inboard movie was _Airport_ , a film that didn't interest Hutch. He tuned his earphones to a channel playing light jazz music and leaned his head back against his seat, closing his eyes as he let the music wash over him.

An hour into the flight, the stewardess tapped him on the shoulder. Turning down his earphones, Hutch looked at her with a smile.

"Excuse me, sir," she said politely. "But would you like a meal? You have your choice of Chicken or Beef."

"No thank you, neither one," Hutch told her. "But, I would like a drink. A club soda, light on the ice."

"Certainly, sir. I'll get that for you right away." She continued down the aisle, taking other drink orders as she went. She returned a short time later with Hutch's drink, passing it to him with a cocktail napkin and a flirtatious smile. As she walked away, Hutch noticed that she had written the named _Trudy_ and a phone number on the napkin.

Hutch was accustomed to attention from the fairer sex. With his blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and lean, muscular build on a six-foot-one frame, women were automatically drawn to him. Combine that with his cultured background and his natural charm, and he could literally have any woman he wanted.

Even when he was casually dressed as he was for his trip, in blue jeans, a black leather jacket and a pale blue tee shirt, he still gave off an air of sophistication that had been inbred in him from childhood by his strict, overbearing parents.

Hutch slipped the note into his pocket even though he knew that he would never call her. He had no objection to one night stands, and actually preferred them to a committed relationship, but after his flight he knew all he would want to do is check into his hotel room and get some sleep to avoid the inevitable jet lag as much as possible.

The rest of the flight passed uneventfully, landing in New York shortly after seven P.M. that evening. Since California was three hours behind New York, to Hutch's body it was still only four in the afternoon. Since he had refused the meal offered on the plane, his rumbling stomach reminded him that he hadn't had eaten since breakfast.

He decided to grab a bite to eat in the airport terminal before catching a cab to his hotel. He chose a relatively empty café that advertised fresh yogurt and salads. He ordered a large ice tea without sugar and a chef's salad with ranch dressing on the side. Although Hutch did indulge in the usual junk food fare from time to time, most of the time he stuck to healthier choices in his normal diet.

After finishing his meal, he gathered his bags from the luggage carousel and left the terminal. He turned up the collar on his jacket as he stepped out into the cooler night air. After living for so many years in California, his body had become acclimated to the warmer weather of the west coast.

A row of yellow cabs were lined up at the curb waiting for potential fares. Hutch stepped up to the closest one and slid into the back seat as the driver got out and put his luggage into the trunk.

As the driver slid back into the car, Hutch said, "The Tremont Hotel, 3310 Lexington Ave."

The driver pulled away with a sudden jerk that threw Hutch back against the seat. The cab wove recklessly in and out of traffic, and Hutch let out a sigh of relief when they pulled up in front of his hotel twenty minutes later. Paying the fare with a modest tip included, Hutch climbed out of the car and gathered his bags as the driver sped away, already on the lookout for another potential fare.

He entered the modest building that housed the hotel and walked to the front desk. A bored-looking receptionist looked up from the magazine article she was reading.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Hutchinson. I have a reservation."

The woman behind the desk consulted her reservation book and nodded. "Yes, here it is. Hutchinson. Reservation for one for two weeks. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Hutch told her

"The bill has already been paid in advance. If you find that you'll be needing the room any longer then two weeks, please let the front desk know two days in advance." She recited the speech in a dull monotone as she reached behind her and took a key from one of the numerous hooks on the wall. "Room 117. Last room on your left at the end of the hall." She turned back to the magazine she had been reading before being interrupted by Hutch's arrival.

Hutch carried his two bags and overnight case down the hall to his room, setting them down long enough to unlock the door. Carrying the bags inside, he closed the door, turned the lock and pocketed the key.

He walked into the modest bathroom where he stripped off his clothes and took a quick shower, letting the hot water soothe away the weariness in his muscles from the long flight. He dried off briskly with the thick, soft towel supplied by the hotel.

Walking across the carpet to the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, he flopped down on his stomach without bothering to dress in his pajamas and drifted into a deep slumber.

The sun was shining brightly when he opened his eyes the next morning. An early riser by nature, Hutch noted the time. It was almost nine A.M. New York time which meant it was six A.M, back in Bay City, the time Hutch usually got up in the mornings.

Most mornings back home, he took a three mile run before showering and dressing for the day. But, since he wasn't familiar with the streets or neighborhood he was in, he reluctantly by-passed his normal routine. After a quick shave, he dressed for the day in pair of kaki slacks and a camel colored sweater. Slipping on his shoulder harness, he buckled the straps and slipped his magnum into the holster that nestled securely under his left armpit. He shrugged on his black leather jacket and adjusted it to make his gun was hidden from view.

He left the hotel and caught a cab out front, instructing the driver to take him to the Twenty-first precinct of the New York Police Department. The driver eyed him curiously but didn't question his fare's destination. Although he looked harmless enough, the driver sensed that Hutch was not a man to be messed with.

Half an hour later, he stepped out of the cab in front of the metropolitan police department. Unlike Hutch's department back in Bay City, the Twenty-First precinct was housed in an older brick building with bars on the lower windows and graffiti covering the outside walls. Uniformed officers, well dressed businessmen, and other citizens were going in and out of the glass doors that opened into the building.

Hutch climbed the crumbling steps to the front entrance and stepped inside. The controlled chaos inside reminded Hutch of home. People were all talking at once, and clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke filled the air. Phones were ringing, and somewhere in the din, a baby was crying.

Hutch made his way to the front desk and told the duty officer, "I'm here to see Captain Drew."

"Third floor, homicide squad," The heavyset sergeant on duty said gruffly as he immediately turned to the next person in line.

Hutch followed the man's directions. A sign on the elevator said it was out of order so he climbed the rickety stairs to the third floor and followed the names on the frosted doors until he found the homicide squad room.

Opening the door, he went inside. The large room was filled with desks. Uniformed officers mingled with plain clothes officers. Some were talking on the phone, others were typing reports, while others were booking prisoners. The noise level was even higher than it was downstairs in the lobby. Hutch saw a door to his left that said Captain Drew, so he walked in that direction.

"Come in!" a gruff voice barked in response to his knock. Hutch concealed a smile. The man's tone reminded him of his own Captain back home. Hutch opened the door and stepped into the tiny, cluttered office.

A heavyset man with gray hair and a heavily lined face sat behind the battered desk in the middle of the room. He looked up at Hutch with a questioning look on his face.

"I'm Detective Hutchinson from Bay City P.D."

"Oh yeah, the hot shot detective from California. Hang tight while I get the detective handling the case on this end." He shoved himself to his feet and lumbered to the door. Opening it, he bellowed into the squad room, "Starsky! Get your tail in here!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The man who casually strolled into Caption Drew's office looked more like a suspect than he did a police officer. Approximately the same age as Hutch, he was slightly shorter with the same lean, muscular physique, but a more compact build. He had a mop of curly brown hair that was definitely longer than regulations, brushing the back of his faded blue tee shirt. A pair of ragged denim jeans encased his lower torso tightly enough to be considered obscene.

But, it was his eyes that immediately caught and held Hutch's attention. A deep sapphire blue, they were alert and intelligent, but at the same time, they were guarded and wary. The eyes of a seasoned cop who had seen the worst that society had to offer throughout his career.

"David Starsky," Captain Drew said in a monotone "This is Detective Hutchinson. He's the officer from California that's here to try and help out with the slasher case. Fill him in on what you got so far."

Captain Drew turned his attention back to his cluttered desk, dismissing the two men with a wave of his hand.

Starsky turned without a word and walked back into the bullpen. Hutch followed him to a desk sitting apart from the others in the back of the room. A stack of files was neatly stacked on one side of the desk, and on the other side a mess of papers were stuck in a wire basket beside a battered old typewriter.

"So you're the big shot California boy sent out here to help us find a killer," Starsky said in a distinctive New York accent. "If you couldn't find him on your own turf, what makes you think you can find him on mine?"

"I'm just here to help in any way that I can," Hutch said amicably. He had encountered anger and resentment from fellow officers before when they thought he was stepping on their territory. Most cops were territorial when it came to their districts and their assigned caseloads.

"Just don't go thinking your better than me, Blondie, cause you ain't."

Hutch frowned at the nickname. It was the same thing the jocks in high school used to call him when they were tormenting him. But, he held his tongue. It wouldn't help to antagonize the man that he was going to be working with while he was in town.

"Don't mind him," a man sitting at a nearby desk said with a smirk. "Starsky don't like nobody."

"Shut up, Harrison," Starsky growled. "This is a private conversation, so butt out."

The man Starsky had identified as Harrison snorted. "Hey, I'm just trying to warn our new friend here about what he's getting himself into." He glanced at Hutch. "See, nobody in the squad wants to work with Starsky because his partners have a nasty habit of ending up dead."

"Thanks for the advice, but I can take of myself," Hutch said

"I hope so, Blondie," Harrison said using the despised nickname once more. "'Cause you never know if you can count on Starsky or not."

"You can call me Hutch," Hutch told him. Although his remark was directed at Harrison, the tone of his voice made it clear that it was intended for Starsky too. "And I prefer to make my own judgments about people."

"Suit yourself," Harrison said. "But, don't say you weren't warned." He turned his attention back to his own duties, ignoring the two men at the desk behind him.

Hutch looked at his companion solemnly and said, "Do I need to worry about you watching my back out there?"

"Not as long as I don't have to worry about you watching mine," Starsky growled.

"Fair enough. So, where do we start?"

"By talking to a friend of mine to see if he's found out anything useful." Starsky stood up and grabbed a blue windbreaker from the back of his chair. He shrugged it on, adjusting it to conceal his gun. He strode out of the room without looking back; automatically assuming that Hutch was following him.

With a thin smile, Hutch fell in step behind him.

He followed Starsky through the unfamiliar halls of the building and down a flight of stairs to a door that opened into a large parking lot. Starsky walked back the nondescript Chevies and sedans to a candy apple red Ford Torino with a wide white stripe painted down both sides.

"She's a beauty, ain't she?" Starsky said proudly with a huge grin that reminded Hutch of a little kid showing off his newest toy.

"You've got to be kidding," Hutch said with hint of sarcasm in his voice. He waited for Starsky to unlock his door then lean over to unlock his. "You don't mean to tell me that the department actually lets you drive this thing while you're on duty."

The pleasant smile on Starsky face was replaced by a scowl. "What? I suppose you drive a nice little sedan. Probably either gray or blue. Or maybe you drive a rolls, being from California and all that."

"My car gets me where I need to be, and that's all that matters. I don't care what kind it is or what color."

"You know, Blondie, we might get along better if you got that stick out of your ass." Starsky growled as he twisted the key in the ignition and the powerful V8 engine roared to life.

"Excuse me?" Hutch said with an annoyed glare at his companion.

"You heard me. I didn't stutter." Starsky concentrated on his driving as he merged with the heavy morning traffic and headed east into the city.

Hutch bit his tongue, refusing to rise to the bait that Starsky kept dangling in front of him. He turned to stare out the window at his side of the street, his trained eye automatically cataloging the activity going on around him. On the sidewalk a hooker barely out of her teens strolled dressed in a skirt so short it barely covered her ass, openly advertising her wares. Teenagers cutting school and fledging gang members looking for an easy score milled in and out among the other pedestrians on their way to work or to the nearby subway. Nannies pushing baby carriages walked beside stylishly dressed matrons ready to start a day of shopping.

And on almost every corner, a street vender had his stand, selling everything from hot dogs and cold drinks to knock off purses and vintage clothing. All and all, it wasn't that much different than the streets back in Bay City, just more crowded and a lot dirtier.

Abruptly, Starsky pulled into an alley to his right and parked behind a dumpster overflowing with garbage. The two detectives climbed out of the car. Hutch leaned against the front fender and watched in silence as Starsky stepped in front of the car and looked around.

A man approached from the opposite end of the alley. He was a tall muscular man with long. brown hair and a nasty looking scar on one cheek. He was dressed in faded jeans and a tattered army jacket. He smiled as he met Starsky by the dumpster. Starsky returned the smile, and the two men exchanged some complicated sort of hand shake and then slapped each other on the back.

Glancing at Hutch, Starsky said, "This is an old friend of mine from my running days."

"My friends call me Ice." The man said offering Hutch his hand.

"I'm Ken Hutchinson, but my friends call me Hutch." Hutch took the other man's hand and shook it firmly.

"Blondie here is the big shot California detective that came out here to help with the slasher case" Starsky said smiling faintly when he used the nickname that he knew Hutch didn't like.

"Good luck," Ice said. "I don't mind telling you he's got everybody on the streets spooked. Sister Jane is trying to make more room at the shelter at night, but there's only so much she can do."

"Just tell her to keep doing what she can," Starsky told him. "And make sure and tell everybody else to stick together. Don't go anywhere alone where they could put themselves in a vulnerable position. Have you heard anything else that might help?"

"Well…Princess Grace said this guy tried to pick her up the other night in some rusty ole van but got scared away when he realized she wasn't alone."

"Come to think of it, a witness back home mentioned something about a guy in a 'rusty ole van'," Hutch said. "It could be a lead."

"And it could just be a coincidence," Starsky said in a disgusted voice. "Jesus, there must be thousands of rusty ole vans in New York City, not to mention in California!"

"I gotta boogie," Ice said "Things to do and people to see. Ya know?"

"Yeah, I dig it." Starsky said. "Catch you again in a couple of days. You know how to get hold of me if you hear anything new before then."

Ice walked away, and the two detectives climbed back into the car.

As Starsky started the car and pulled back into the street, Hutch said, "So where to now?"

"To get something to eat." Starsky told him "I'm starving."

Hutch pulled the old fashioned pocket watch from the pocket of his jeans and flipped open the lid to see the time. He was surprised to see that it was almost noon.

"What? You don't believe in watches like everybody else?" Starsky eyed the old fashioned time piece suspiciously.

"It was my grandfather's," Hutch told him as he closed the lid and carefully slipped the watch back into his pocket.

"Whatever…" Starsky muttered. He fell back into one of the heavy silences that were beginning to grate on Hutch's nerves.

When Starsky pulled up in front of a placed called "The Taco Palace", Hutch let out a soft groan. He could see a night of heartburn and indigestion in his future if they didn't have a decent salad on the menu.

"What now?" Starsky demanded "I suppose this ain't good enough for you. You'd rather eat at the Four Seasons or something?"

"This is fine as long as they have a salad bar."

"Rabbit food," Starsky snorted. "I should have known. I suppose you're one of those health food nuts that eats yogurt and sunflower seeds."

"There's nothing wrong with keeping in shape and eating right," Hutch defended himself.

"Give me a double taco loaded with all the extras including sour cream and jalapenos."

As they walked into the dimly lit interior, it did little to ease Hutch's mind about eating there. Fly strips hung from the ceiling, and dirty dishes still littered several of the tables.

Starsky took a seat near the back of the room and waved at a waitress to get her attention.

He ordered a taco supreme plate with a large Coke, while Hutch opted for a glass of water. Food would have to wait until later for the sake of his digestion. As he sat there in silence watching Starsky inhale three taco Supremes and a stuffed burrito, Hutch found himself wondering if Starsky ate that way all the time, and, if so, how did he keep from weighing a lot more than he did? Hutch had to exercise religiously to keep from putting on unnecessary pounds.

After he had eaten, Starsky paid his tab and told Hutch, "I'll drop you off at your motel. I've got court all afternoon."

"Okay," Hutch agreed. "I'll meet you at the station in the morning then."

"Yeah, and we can spend another glorious day together." Starsky said dryly as they walked outside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 **A/N: Since I have never been to New York City or the College mentioned in this chapter, descriptions have come from Wikipedia and this authors own imagination. Any errors contained within are my own.**

Hutch was still sleeping when a loud knocking at the door awakened him. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was five-thirty in the morning. He shoved himself out of bed and walked across the room to answer the door. He was surprised to find Starsky standing there.

"Sorry to haul your ass out of bed so early, but there's been another murder that fits the slasher pattern."

"Okay, give me a couple of minutes to get dressed." Hutch said. He stepped aside to allow Starsky into the room.

As Hutch began sorting through his bags for clothes, Starsky's gaze swept around the room.

"Looks like your department is almost as cheap as mine," he snorted. "This sure ain't the Hilton."

Hutch ignored the comment as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt. Slipping on his shoulder harness and fastening the straps, he settled his gun in place and shrugged into his leather jacket.

Outside the streets were just starting to come awake as newspaper vendors dropped off the early edition of the paper at the newsstand on the corner, and early morning commuters hurried along the street on their way to work or to the subway.

As they settled into Starsky's car, the brunet quickly filled Hutch in on the details he had so far. "Female victim, mid-twenties. Found under a bridge near the river. Same M.O. as the other victims. Beaten to death, genital mutilation, but no other signs of sexual abuse. Nude with no sign of her clothing found in the immediate vicinity."

"The genital mutilation has to mean there's some kind of sexual kink in it for the unsub." Hutch said, thinking aloud as he often did when working on a case.

"I'll agree with that, but usually someone with a sexual fetish sticks to either female or male victims. This guy doesn't seem to have a preference."

"Other then their ages…between twenty and thirty-five…and the fact that most of them are from the streets, either homeless, hookers, or addicts."

"Maybe he thinks he's helping clean up the streets," Starsky mused.

Hutch shook his head. "It feels more personal than that to me."

Starsky turned left onto a narrow dirt road that led down a steep hillside to a bridge spanning the east river. The coroner's wagon, a police car, and a paramedic's vehicle were already parked at the scene. Starsky parked next to the police car and the two detectives joined the other personnel milling around under the bridge.

A body covered by a white sheet lay on the ground near the edge of the water. Starsky knelt down, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, before reaching out to pull back the sheet from the victim's face.

Despite the heavy bruises that marked her face and the swollen, split lips, it was obvious that the victim had been a very pretty woman in her early twenties. A delicate gold cross on a chain was tangled in her long, blonde hair. Starsky rocked back on his heels as he stared at her face. Something didn't sit right with him about this victim, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Not just yet, anyway.

A shout from a young, uniformed officer searching the ground along the side of the river caught everyone's attention. He held up a woman's purse for everyone to see. Trotting back to the group of first responders, he handed the bag to Hutch.

"Found it down there in the water. Looks like someone tried to pitch it but didn't throw it out far enough. The strap got snagged on a rock."

"Good work, Officer…" Hutch quickly glanced at the young rookie's name tag. "…Thomas. Carry on."

"Yes, sir," The rookie said with a pleased smile and a carefully rehearsed salute. He hurried back to his search while Hutch hid an amused grin. He wondered if he had ever been that enthusiastic or eager to please his superiors.

He rummaged through the bag. It contained the usual feminine items: a tube of lipstick (passion pink), a compact, a set of keys, tissues, an address book, and a wallet. Hutch took out the wallet and opened it. Inside he found twenty dollars in cash and a student I.D.

"Looks like she was a student at Queens College," Hutch announced to others. "A senior named Janet Emerson. Money's still here, so it wasn't robbery."

"That's the first variation in our guy's routine," Starsky said sourly. "It could mean he's escalating and branching out to other victims."

"Maybe," Hutch said thoughtfully. "Or maybe someone out there wants us to think that."

"Guess we start by seeing what we can find about Miss Emerson at Queens," Starsky said, as he stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans.

Hutch nodded and handed the purse to an older officer standing nearby, obviously the young rookie's training officer. The uniformed officer wrote out a chain of evidence slip that he handed back to Hutch, who slipped it in his pocket.

Starsky nodded to the coroner who had been waiting patiently until it was okay to move the body. The two detectives walked back to the car and headed for the University to begin their investigation.

Queens College was one of the oldest colleges in New York. It was located on 77 acres on Kissena Boulevard in the neighborhood of Kew Gardens, a residential area in the northeastern part of the borough of Queens. Like most of New York City, Kew Gardens boasted a diverse ethic population that included Asians, Hispanics, Middle Eastern, European, and African Americans.

Starsky found a place to park in one of the many parking lots on the campus, and the two detectives began walking towards the main part of the campus. Students hurried along on their way to classes or to their dorm rooms, while others lounged around the carefully tended gardens with their friends. With its open-door policy, all ethnic groups were represented, although most of them tended to stay within their own social groups and not interact except in their individual classes.

In the main hall, they followed the posted signs to the Chancellor's office on the second floor of the vast building with the vaulted ceilings. After identifying themselves to the student receptionist in the outer office, they waited while she went into the inner office to announce them.

A few moments later, they were joined by a distinguished looking woman in her late forties with brown eyes and carefully styled brown hair. She was dressed in a tailored blue suit with a jacket and low, sensible heels.

"Good day, Gentlemen," she said as she held out her hand. "I'm Chancellor Cummings. How can I help you?"

"Uh…I'm Detective Starsky, and this is Detective Hutchinson. We're here about one of your students. A Senior named Janet Emerson."

"With over twenty thousand students enrolled on this campus, I'm sure you understand that I am not familiar with every student." She turned to the receptionist. "Karen, would you please find the file on Janet Emerson, a Senior, and bring it into my office." She gestured for Starsky and Hutch to accompany her into her inner sanctum.

Her office was large and tastefully furnished with a thick carpet on the floor and a large window overlooking the campus. One entire wall was a built-in bookcase filled with leather-bound books. Starsky and Hutch sat in the two chairs in front of the desk just as the student brought in the requested file and handed to the Chancellor.

"Is Miss Emerson is some sort of trouble with the police?" Ms. Cummings asked as she opened the file and scanned the contents.

Hutch glanced at Starsky to make sure he had no objection to Hutch handling the interview. A slight tilt of his chin indicated that he didn't.

"I'm sorry to inform you that Miss Emerson was found murdered early this morning."

"Oh, my goodness! That's terrible. I'm so sorry to hear that,"

"We'll need her contact information so we can notify her next of kin," Hutch told her.

"Of course. I'll have Karen give that all to you before you leave."

"In the meantime, what can you tell us about Miss Emerson?"

"Well, she was a senior here and her major was theatre arts. Like so many other young women her age, she wanted to be an actress. A waste of time if you ask me. Such a hard business to break into."

"Did she live here on campus?"

"No, she actually shared an apartment with two other girls. Lorrie Reed and Tara Monroe. I'll have Karen get that address for you, too."

"Was Miss Emerson originally from New York?"

"No. She lived in Ohio with her parents, but they were killed in a car accident her sophomore year. Her only living relative is an Aunt and Uncle who still live in Ohio."

"Can you tell us who any of her friends were besides her two roommates?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I don't know anything about the student's social lives, but I'm sure her roommates could tell you more than I can."

"Did she have any problems with any of the other students?"

"Not that her record indicates. She had a 3.5 GPA and was a member of the Drama Club. She was also an active student council member and read to the elderly once a week at a local nursing home." The Chancellor closed the file. "I'm afraid that is about all I can tell you about Miss Emerson. Such a waste. She will be missed, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," Hutch agreed rising gracefully to his feet to indicate that the interview was over.

The older woman nodded and reached for the phone on her desk. "I'll have Karen get that information for you."

The two detectives returned to the outer officer and waited patiently for the student to copy the information from the file for them. With that in hand, they left the campus to continue their investigation.

"Definitely not like the other victims," Starsky said as he pulled back onto the freeway.

"Nope. I'd be willing to bet that she isn't one of the slasher's victims. I think we have a copycat on our hands."

"Yeah, me too," Starsky said. He threw a glance at Hutch and added, "Thanks for handling that back there. Places like that make me nervous. I just don't fit in there. Ya know?"

"That's okay. No problem," Hutch said.

Silence reigned again as they continued to the address they had been given for Janet Emerson and her two roommates.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 **A/N: There will be a delay between chapters for awhile. We had to move unexpectedly because the house we were living in got condemned because of the people who were living in the apartment upstairs. Even though our apartment was fine we still had to move too. We do not have home internet at the moment and it could be a month or so before we do because of the expenses involved with our move. In the meantime, I have to use my daughters hot spot on her cell phone to get on line and it takes forever to get where I want to be.**

Lorrie Reed and Tara Monroe were both in their mid-twenties and seniors at Queens College. Lorrie was a petite brunette with big, blue eyes and a flair for the dramatic with her make up and hair, while Tara was more conservative with just a touch of lip gloss and her blonde hair neatly cut into a pixie cut. Both young women were enrolled in the theatre arts program with Janet Emerson.

They were shocked and saddened to hear about their roommate's murder. Tara more so than Lorrie since she had been friends with Janet since their freshman year.

Sensing instinctively that the young women seemed to be more comfortable talking to Starsky, Hutch stepped aside and let him handle the interview.

"When did the two of you last see Janet?"

Hutch noticed that Starsky had switched to the victim's first name to put the two young women more at ease with the conversation.

"I saw her yesterday," Tara said. "We had our last class together at 4." She used her fingertips to wipe away her tears.

"I saw her at breakfast yesterday," Lorrie said. "I cut classes so I could go shopping with my sister. She's in town from Chicago and I haven't seen her for over a year."

"Do either of you know anyone who might want to hurt Janet?"

Both girls were silent for several seconds, exchanging a glance as if sharing a secret, then Tara spoke up.

"Her boyfriend Kenny was really jealous. He didn't even like it when she had to do a scene with another boy in one of our classes."

"Do you know if he ever got violent with her or hit her?"

"I saw her with a black eye one time but she told me that she walked into a door by accident," Lorrie said

"She told me that she got hit by a ball on the Quad," Tara said. "I think we both thought that Kenny hit her, but she would never admit to it."

"Did you ever see her with any other visible injuries? Bruises, cuts…"

"No, but she wore long sleeves a lot," Lorrie volunteered.

"I talked to Kenny's ex, and she told me that he used to hit her all the time. That's why she broke up with him," Tara said. "I tried to talk to Janet about it, but she wouldn't listen. She said his ex was just lying to cause trouble."

"What's Kenny's full name?"

"Kenny Logan. He lives in the city, but I don't know his address. But I'm sure his ex could tell you. Her name is Sherri Howard, and she lives in one of the dorms on campus. Waverly hall I think."

"How did Janet meet him if he doesn't go to school with you all?"

"At a dance he came to with Sherri just before they broke up. Janet told me that he accidentally spilled his drink on her, and then he insisted on giving her the money to have it cleaned since it was silk.""

"I know she was surprised when he called to ask her out after he broke up with Sherri," Lorrie added. "She never did find out who gave him our phone number."

"He told her that he got it out of the student directory," Tara said "But, nobody has access to that until they're a registered student at the campus."

"Thank you, ladies. You've been a lot of help," Starsky said with his most charming smile.

"Do you know when or if there will be a memorial service for Janet?" Tara asked. "We'd both like to be there if there is."

"You'd have to contact her family about that. It's my understanding that all she has is an aunt and uncle back in Ohio," Starsky told her. "But, maybe you girls could put something together for everybody here that knew her. I'm sure she must have had a lot of friends."

"She did until she hooked with Kenny," Tara said. "We'll do that. I'm sure the administration won't mind."

The two detectives left and headed back towards the university to see if they could locate Kenny Logan's ex-girlfriend to talk to her. They found Waverly Hall and asked about Sherri Howard. They were told that she was at her part-time job as a hostess at the infamous Playboy Club in downtown New York.

Starsky's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he headed towards the inner city. As he crossed the bridge into the city, he looked at Hutch and said, "Have you ever been the Playboy Club?"

"Not hardly," Hutch said "My father would have had a coronary."

"That strict, huh?"

"No…just reserved and proper."

"You mean he had a bigger stick up his ass then you do" Starsky said with a sneer.

"I don't have a stick up my ass."

"Can't prove it by me."

Forty-five minutes later, Starsky pulled up in front of a nondescript gray brick building nine stories high on East 59th Street and Madison. The building had an anonymous, unassuming facade from all outward appearances, with no clue as to the nature of the club within.

The two men stepped through two glass doors into a small entryway to find another door that had a sign reading "Members Only" hanging on it. It was being guarded by one of the infamous playboy bunnies.

She was a very pretty oriental girl with long black hair and even longer legs. She was dressed in the regulation 'bunny suit'. In her case, it was a form-fitting, yellow satin, merry widow corseted teddy with sheer black nylons and high heels. Matching bunny ears bent at a jaunty angel, a black and white collar with matching cuffs, and a fluffy white, bunny tail completed the ensemble.

"I'm sorry, gentleman," The door bunny said graciously. "But, this is a private club. Members only."

"I'm Detective Starsky, and this is Detective Hutchinson," Starsky said as he fished his ID out of his pocket. "We need to talk to one of your employees, Sherri Howard. We were told that she was working tonight."

"Just a moment, please." The young woman picked up a phone on the wall behind her and punched in a three digit number. She spoke into the receiver in a voice that was too low for them to hear what was being said. She hung up and looked at the two men with a warm smile. "If you'll wait here, Sherri will be out to speak with you shortly."

Hutch could almost see Starsky deflate in disappointment. He had been excited about getting to see the inside of the famous club for himself. He leaned against the wall with a sulking expression on his face as he watched a well dressed man in a three-piece suit gain admittance to the club with an exclusive "bunny key".

Then the door to the inner sanctum opened, and one of the most beautiful girls either man had ever seen stepped through. She had long, dark red hair, green eyes, porcelain skin, an hourglass figure and ample bustline, both of which accented by her custom-fitted, emerald green, bunny costume. In her heels, she was as tall as Hutch.

"I'm Sherri Howard," she said with just a trace of a southern accent. "I was told that you two gentlemen were police officers and that you needed to talk to me."

"Uh,..yeah," Hutch said, stumbling over his words as he pulled his attention away from the gorgeous creature in front of him. "We'd like to ask you some questions about Kenny Logan."

"Kenny? What has that bastard done now?"

"We need to talk to him about a woman he'd been seeing, Janet Emerson."

"I wouldn't be able to help you with that. He started seeing her after we broke up. Why? Has she accused Kenny of doing something to her?"

"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to say," Starsky said smoothly. "Can you tell us where we can find him?"

"Sure…he lives at 1026 Morrow Avenue in the Bronx." She smiled thinly. "He still lives with mommy and daddy."

"We were told that he slapped you around a few times when the two of you were dating. Is that true?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah. I hate to admit it, but it's true. That was before I started working here. God, he really would have gone psycho then. He was bad enough when he even thought I was looking at another guy."

"When did you break up with him?"

"Eight months, three weeks and four days ago…not that I'm keeping count. That was after he put me in the hospital for three days."

"Thank you very much. You've been a lot of help," Starsky told her with a warm smile and a flirtatious brush of her hand.

"You're welcome. Whatever Kenny did, I hope you throw the book at him. Now, if that's all, I need to get back to work."

"Of course," Hutch told her. The two men waited until she disappeared back into the club, then with a courteous nod to the door bunny, they left the building.

Starsky smothered a yawn as he climbed back into the car. Glancing at his watch, he was startled to discover that it was eleven P.M. With all the back and forth driving and talking to different people he had lost track of time. His stomach rumbled, reminding him abruptly that he had eaten all day.

"It's late," Starsky said. "What do you say we grab something to eat and call it a night? We can talk to the Logan kid in the morning."

"Just drop me off at my motel, if you don't mind," Hutch said. "I'm bushed, and I don't feel like eating right now."

"Well, do you mind if I hit a drive thru on the way? You may not be hungry, but I sure as hell am, and it's over an hour's drive back to your hotel, even at this time of night."

"Yeah, okay." Hutch was too tired to get into a verbal sparring match with Starsky. A muted growl from his stomach signaled his own hunger. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to grab a bite to eat after all. It had been a long day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Shortly after ten A.M. the next morning, Starsky pulled up in front of the address Sherri Howard had given them for Kenny Logan. It was a tiny two story bungalow with a large bay window facing the street. The neatly trimmed lawn was surround by a white picket fence, and brightly colored flowers were planted in a flowerbed beneath the window.

Hutch's knock on the front door was answered by an elderly woman with gray hair pulled back into a tidy bun and wire rimmed glasses hanging on a chain around her neck. She wore a plain white blouse with a blue skirt that brushed her ankles.

"Yes? How can I help you, young man?"

"I'm Detective Hutchinson, and this is Detective Starsky from the NYPD," Hutch told her as he showed her his ID. "Is Kenny here? We'd like to ask him a couple of questions about a case we're working on."

"No, I'm sorry but Kenny isn't here right now. Is there something I can do for you?"

"No, we really need to talk to Kenny. Do you know where we can find him?"

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid not. He hasn't been home for a few days. Sometimes he just needs to get away for awhile, and he never tells me where he is. He just disappears, but he always comes back after a week or so."

Starsky smiled and handed her one of his cards. "When he comes back, could you give us a call? We'd really appreciate it."

"Of course, Officer. I'll let you know immediately. Kenny isn't in any trouble, is he?"

"We just have a few questions for him," Starsky hedged skillfully.

The woman nodded and closed the door. Starsky let out a long breath and said, "She seems like a nice enough lady. I'd hate to have to tell her that her son may have killed someone."

"Yeah, me too." Hutch agreed. "So what now? An A.P.B.?"

Starsky nodded, "Yeah. I don't want to let him slip through our fingers before we get a chance to talk to him." He paused and rested his arms on the roof of the Torino. He looked across it at Hutch, who paused before opening his own door. "My gut's telling me that he killed that girl and tried to make it look like our guy to throw us off his scent."

"Yeah, me too."

They continued their conversation as they climbed into the car, and Starsky headed back towards headquarters.

"Okay, so we're back to square one on the slasher case," Starsky said. "So far we have five known victims of the slasher out here. Three homeless men, a hooker and a junkie runaway, with the last two victims being female." He paused to gather his thoughts. "All five were beaten to death with a blunt object, possibly a baseball bat, they, all had their genital area mutilated, but there were no signs of rape or any other sexual abuse. They were all nude when they were find with no sign of their clothing or any form of ID. Only three of the victims here have been identified, two of the men and the hooker."

"And no useful evidence was found at any of the crime scenes," Hutch added, having reviewed the east coast file himself that morning. "There were eight victims in Bay City, but only because we believe that he was there longer. Six of those victims were homeless, four women, and two men. The other two victims were both hookers, one male and one female. All of the Bay City victims have been identified except for the male hooker. Same M.O. in each case, just like here."

"And no solid leads in any of the cases. And no link between any of the victims…at least none that's been found."

"Other the most obvious, which seems to be homelessness in the majority of the cases."

"But, that could be because the homeless are more accessible and less likely to be reported missing. And no effort had been made in either case, here or in California, to hide any of the bodies. They were all left in places where they were easily discovered within a few days of their murder."

"Damn, we have to be missing something," Hutch mumbled.

"But what?"

"Hell if I know."

Back at headquarters, Starsky had an all points bulletin put out for Kenny Logan as a potential suspect in Janet Emerson's brutal murder.

As Hutch watched the brunet attend to the mundane tasks involved with any investigation, he found himself viewing the man with a new respect. Starsky might be impulsive, brash, outspoken, and even arrogant, but he was a good cop. He paid attention to the smallest details and remembered them, even the ones that seemed to be insignificant. And, although he seemed to be a loner who was often at odds with his peers, Hutch knew there had to be more to that story then he had heard so far.

Hutch had never allowed the judgment of other people to influence him, preferring to use his own observations to form his opinion about a man's worth and character. Still, Starsky was not making easy to get to know him.

Starsky was scanning over the file on the slasher when he stopped and flipped back through the pages, paused to read something, then resumed flipping through the pages again. Obviously, the man was onto something. Hutch waited for him to decide if he was going to fill his temporary partner in on whatever he thought he'd found.

Finally, a huge grin spread across Starsky's face, and he looked at Hutch, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Two of the victims here were gay. What do you wanna bet some of the others were, too?"

"I never thought of that," Hutch said. "I don't think anybody did, because so many of them were homeless…"

"So, a homeless person can't be gay?" Starsky snorted. "Hey, they gotta get their loving when they can. Swinging both ways just gives you more of a selection."

"Let me call my partner back in Bay City and have him check your theory out on his end." Hutch reached for the phone sitting on the desk and dialed the number for his own precinct back in California.

After several minutes, the phone on the other end of the line was answered by a chipper sounding female.

"Bay City P.D. How may I direct your call?"

"Hi, Minnie," Hutch said with a grin when he recognized the voice. "It's Hutch. Put me through to Blaine."

"You got it, handsome Hutch," Minnie cooed in an exaggerated southern accent.

Hutch chuckled as he waited for her to transfer his call. Minnie was the department's resident computer whiz, and Hutch had come to both admire and respect her expertise in that field. She constantly swore that computers were the wave of the future, and that they all needed to be prepared to know how to use them.

"Hey, Hutch…how's it going in the Big Apple?" John Blaine's voice boomed in his ear.

"Just fine," Hutch told his partner of three years. "I need you to check something out for me."

"Okay. Shoot. What do you need?"

"Check the slasher's victims we have there and see if any of them were gay."

"Gay, huh? Isn't that a bit of reach? I mean, slicing and dicing the homeless is bad enough without them being gay, too."

"Yeah, I know…just check on it for me, will you?"

"Will do, but most of the victims didn't leave us much of a background to check on. But, you already know that."

"Yeah, I know. Just do the best you can. Okay? Check the Hooker stroll…if either one of the hookers swung both ways, somebody should know."

"If we can get them to talk"

"Talk to Sweet Alice. They may talk to her before they will anybody else."

"Okay. Will do. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"If I'm not here, then you can reach me at my hotel."

"Gotcha. Talk to you later, partner. Watch your back out there."

"Will do. Talk to you later, Johnny." Hutch smiled as he hung up. He missed his own turf, not to mention the sunny climate of California. He hoped that Starsky's idea didn't turn out to be another dead end.

"You might as well take off," Starsky glanced up from the file in front of him and looked at Hutch as if he had momentarily forgotten he was there. "I'm just gonna be catching up on some paperwork and making some calls for the rest of the shift."

"Oh, okay, if you're sure you don't need me for anything."

"Not hardly," Starsky said with a snort. "See ya in the morning, Blondie. 

"Yeah, see you in the morning, Hutch said as he shrugged into his leather jacket and gracefully rose to his feet. He left the squad room, his long stride carrying him out of the building and out to the street.

He paused, his eyes sweeping his surroundings with a touch of scorn. New York had its good points, but it had a dingy feel, and he preferred Bay City with its fresher, seaside atmosphere.

As he stood looking for a cab, a woman approached from his left. She was dressed in a a tight, almost non-existent, halter top over a pair of hot-pants that were so short, her butt cheeks were visible. Her chosen profession was fairly obvious.

"Hey, there, handsome," she cooed seductively. "You look lonesome. How about some company?"

"Sorry, not interested," Hutch told her with a soft smile to take the sting out of his rejection. As an afterthought, he dug a ten dollar bill out of his jeans and slipped it between the mounds of her ample breasts. "Take off for a couple of hours and buy yourself something pretty."'

"Gee, thanks, honey," she said with a smile that showed a row of even, white teeth. "A nice hot cup of coffee sounds good about now. Maybe some other time, okay? I'm Marcy, and I'm always somewhere around this neighborhood."

"You're welcome," Hutch told her. He watched her walk away with an exaggerated swing of her hips and a toss of her long blonde hair.

Spotting a cab, Hutch flagged it down. He climbed into the back seat and gave the driver the address for his hotel. He settled back in the seat as the driver recklessly pulled into traffic, barely missing the front bumper of a brown sedan. A blaring horn signaled the other driver's annoyance at being cut off.

 _God!_

Hutch wanted to go home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Aww, damn it…" Starsky muttered under his breath as he looked at the face of the latest victim of the slasher. "It's Marcy Jay."

Hutch looked at the woman's face with a visible start. "I met her yesterday. In front of the station while I was waiting for a cab."

"Yeah," Starsky smiled softly. "She was sort of a cop groupie. She really liked making it with cops. That's why she worked the corner by the station all the time." He frowned darkly. "And I know for a fact that she swung both ways."

"Johnny called me last night at my hotel." Hutch told him. "Sweet Alice told him both of the hookers back home were gay, and she thinks one of the homeless victims was, too."

"It's beginning to sound like we might have found our missing link,"

"It looks that way…or at least it's a strong possibility."

"That could explain why there's genital mutilation but no signs of rape."

"We kept missing it because we thought the link was the fact that most of the victims lived on the fringes of normal society."

"But, how would the perp know that they were all gay? Especially the ones who were homeless?" Starsky questioned.

"Maybe that's why he picked them to begin with…he saw something that made them fit his victim profile."

"Not many places you can go for a little hanky panky if you're homeless," Starsky said.

"And we don't know just what sets this guy off…could be something as innocent as a kiss or a touch on the arm, if we go with the gay theory." Hutch knew he was playing devil's advocate, but he felt it was necessary to keep the investigation on an even keel.

"Which means our perp could think they're gay when they aren't." Starsky suggested. "I think we need somebody to go undercover."

"You mean we need somebody to act as bait," Hutch said. "Someone who fits the victim profiles."

"Which means me, since this isn't your playground," Starsky said firmly.

Hutch was tempted to argue but held his tongue. Starsky was right. He had the connections to the streets here that Hutch didn't have. It only made sense for him to be the one who went undercover.

"So, how am I supposed to watch your back while you play homeless?"

"Sister Jane."

"Sister Jane?" Hutch questioned with a frown.

"Yeah, you fit the part of a do-gooder. You'll fit right in with her street soldiers." Starsky smirked. "They make the rounds morning and night, passing out free meals to the homeless."

"What about the rest of the time?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. You're the college boy, aren't ya?"

"You know, you can lay off the insults anytime. It's getting a little old."

"That's the matter? Am I getting under your skin?" Starsky said with thin smile. "Don't worry. Happens all the time. It's part of my charm."

They climbed back into the Torino, and Starsky left the scene with a sudden jerk that sent Hutch sprawling against the passenger side door. With a grunt, he rubbed his shoulder where it had made contact with the metal door frame. The ride back to headquarters was made in silence.

Captain Drew listened to Starsky's plan and reluctantly agreed to the idea. From previous experience with his rebellious detective, he knew that if he didn't agree Starsky was just as likely to do it anyway. It was easier to sanction it from the beginning and give him full access to all the resources available to the N.Y.P.D.

He eyed Starsky's temporary partner from California. He wasn't sure that he was the right man to work with Starsky on this case. He seemed too "white bread", too reserved and self-contained to be able to handle Starsky's impulsive, reckless behavior. He needed a firm hand to keep him reined in, and Drew just didn't feel confident that Hutchinson was that man. But, his hands were tied. Nobody else on the squad would work with Starsky. He was too reckless and impulsive; qualities that made him a good cop but also worked against him and made him dangerous to work with.

After meeting with Captain Drew, Starsky left for the day using the excuse that he needed time to prepare his undercover persona. Hutch found himself on his own for the afternoon, so he decided to do some sight seeing. As he was leaving the building, he found himself on the stairway with Detective Harrison, the same officer who had been so 'helpful' when Hutch first met Starsky.

"So it looks like the kid hasn't gotten you killed yet," Harrison commented dryly as the two men began their trek down the rickety set of steps to the lobby of the building.

"Sounds like you don't like him too much," Hutch said, just as dryly.

"I think he's a loose cannon and a dangerous one at that. He's already gotten two partners killed."

"How?"

"The first one, Jack Reed, got shot in from behind during a routine bust because Starsky wasn't watching his back. He claimed he was too busy with a second perp who was holding a little girl hostage. And the second time, he purposely put himself and his partner in a dangerous situation that got his partner, Billy Ames, killed in a cross fire."

"I.A. must have cleared him of any wrong doing or he wouldn't still have his badge," Hutch pointed out

"Yeah, well maybe they did. But, everybody knows that Jack and Billy would both still be alive if they hadn't been partnered with Starsky."

"So why's he stick around and put up with the bullshit if nobody in squad wants to work with him?"

"Because of his ole man I guess. His dad was a cop too, a beat cop. He was gunned down in front of the kid when Starsky was twelve. Died in the kid's arms. Pretty wild kid in his teens till he got drafted and did two tours in 'Nam. Came back here and decided to become a cop like his old man. A lot of the guys on the squad think he's got a pretty powerful rabbi on his side looking out for him."

A rabbi in cop slang meant another officer, usually a higher ranking one, who acted as a mentor and guided a younger officer in his career. A good rabbi was also in the position to pull some strings whenever needed to make minor indiscretions disappear before they find their way into an officer's personnel file. And if the rabbi was powerful enough, he could make almost anything 'disappear' so it didn't tarnish a man's reputation or endanger his badge.

They had reached the lobby where they parted ways. Hutch walked outside, his thoughts on what he had just heard about Starsky. He found himself with a new respect for the man to have put up with the alienation from his peers for so long and still do his job. With Harrison, Hutch detected a degree of professional jealousy that contributed to his animosity towards his colleague. He'd seen it before, officers who were jealous of another officer simply because they were a better cop then they were.

From what Hutch had seen, Starsky was forced by his fellow officers to be a loner. No wonder he had a chip on his shoulder and an attitude. Having two partners, both killed in the line of duty, didn't help the matter any. Starsky had been found guilty by his peers and branded a pariah that couldn't be trusted. A part of Hutch felt sorry for the man and wondered who he counted as his friends, if not his co-workers.

Hutch spent the afternoon acting like a tourist. He went to Ellis Island and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He had been to the Museum of Art before during a trip to New York with his parents as a teenager and it remained one of his favorite places in the city.

While it was true that Hutch's family had money and he had been raised with certain privileges and advantages that most people didn't have, he had always tried not to act like he was better than anyone else. As a teenager, most of his fights with his parents had centered on him having friends they considered common and beneath him and his status in the community.

To his parents, the Hutchinson name was everything. He was expected to act a certain way, and any rebellion on his part was frowned on. His father had his future mapped out for him by the time he was thirteen. For a time, Hutch had gone along with his father's demands, but eventually, he had rebelled by marrying his college sweetheart, Vanessa, and moving to California to attend medical school instead of staying in Duluth under his father's watchful eye.

When he rebelled even further by dropping out of college and joining the police academy, his father had cut off him off and discontinued his monthly allowance. Vanessa had divorced him and returned to Duluth. His father even threatened to disinherit him, a threat that only alienated father and son even more. He had never cared about his family's money, and, from that day on, he had supported himself and refused to touch any of the Hutchinson fortune, including a trust fund that had been set up for him by his paternal grandfather.

At this stage of his life, Hutch was happy and content. He had his own circle of friends back home and was well liked by most of his peers. He had worked hard to rise through the ranks to his current position, and, at the moment, had no desire to move to the next level on the promotional ladder.

He had an active social life with no steady girlfriend. One night stands were his preference. No strings, no obligations, no broken promises. He lived in a modest cottage along a canal in Venice, a suburb of Los Angeles, and drove a ten year old Ford that got him where he wanted to go.

He made a mental note to call his partner when he got back to his motel room just to touch base and keep abreast of what was happening in his own department back home. In the meantime, he would focus all his attention on solving the case at hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Hutch scanned the faces of the men and women waiting in line for the free boxes of food the mission passed out twice a day to the homeless. Faces of less fortunate souls who through circumstances beyond their control were forced to depend on the generosity of others to survive from day to day.

He focused his attention on a man mid-way down the line. He was dressed like the others in several layers of ragged, faded clothes with a heavy growth of dark beard covering his lower face. A red cap was pulled down low over dark, tangled curls. Starsky blended in easily with the poor souls around him.

"There you go. Have a good day. God bless," Hutch said as he handed one of the boxes to Starsky. He noted the ragged, dirty nails and wondered how Starsky had managed such a transformation in just the past week.

Starsky accepted the food with a grunt and strolled over to the abandoned building on the corner and sat down on the sidewalk, leaning back against the brick wall to eat his meal. Hutch immediately noted that while the other homeless gathered in their own groups to eat, Starsky sat alone. But, his disguise seemed to be working.

Finished with his task here, Hutch moved on to the next block. He avoided looking at Starsky so as not to draw any unwanted attention to either one of them. It was two hours before he finished with his assigned district and returned to the mission on a side street just off Broadway to help pack the boxes for the evening meal deliveries.

Sister Jane, the nun who ran the mission, was a petite woman in her late forties with a trim figure. Unlike most nuns, she shunned the conventional habit and dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. The only attire that identified her as part of a religious order was the black and white head piece she wore over her dark brown hair.

She had freely shared her back story with Hutch when they met earlier that morning. As a teenage runaway, she had arrived in the city when she was fourteen. Running from an abusive home, she was easy pickings to the predators that roamed Grand Central Station looking for the vulnerable victims they preyed on. For four years she had worked the streets, being beaten regularly by her pimp. When she was 18, she had been rescued by a sister of the order she now belonged to. Sister Ruth had made it her life's calling to rescue as many young girls like Jane as she could.

When Sister Ruth was murdered by an angry, violent pimp, Jane had retreated to the convent and taken her own vows, swearing to honor Sister Ruth by following in her footsteps. She had made it her mission to serve the homeless and less fortunate who made the streets their home. That included helping the police in any way she could to keep the streets as safe as possible for a population that was usually ignored by the general public.

"How are things going, Ken?" she asked as she watched him put some boxes for the supper meal into one of the specially designed warmers until they were needed.

"Good. You have a pretty good system going here."

"We try our best. We couldn't do what we do without people like you and David helping us."

"Have you known Starsky for a long time?" Hutch asked hoping to find out more about his temporary partner.

"For about ten years. I met him just after he returned from Viet Nam. But, I already knew his family. I had tried to intervene with his brother, Nicky, several times, with limited success."

"I didn't even know he had a brother."

"Nicky is about five years younger than David, and the two of them are nothing alike. While David managed to turn his life around and follow in his father's footsteps, I'm afraid that Nicky went in the opposite direction. He's a wanna be little thug who runs with a pretty rough crowd. He's had more than one scrape with the law, but nothing serious…at least not yet. He gives his poor mother nothing but grief and more than her share of sleepless nights."

"I heard that their dad was a cop who was killed in the line of duty."

"Yes. It tore the whole family apart. He was shot in front of David and actually died in David's arms. It really messed him up for awhile. He started running the streets, hanging out with a local gang, getting in trouble."

"What changed?"

"There was a run-in with a rival gang when David was 17. His girlfriend was shot in a drive-by shooting, and he was cornered on a roof where he was beaten very badly by several of the rival gang members. Then they threw him off the roof of a ten story building. He would have been killed except he fell into a dumpster full of discarded carpet from a local store.

As it was, he ended up with a severely fractured leg and a shattered ankle, along with several broken ribs, a ruptured spleen and a fractured skull. He was in the hospital for almost two months." Sister Jane paused in her narration and sighed heavily. "He was drafted a few months after he got out of the hospital and sent to Viet Nam. The last six months he was there, he was a P.O.W. He was one of the fortunate ones. The camp he was in was found by our troops, and he was rescued. He left an angry, bitter boy and came home an angry, disillusioned man. Then his father's old partner stepped in and helped him turn his life around."

Hutch nodded as he listened to this part of Starsky's past. He had avoided the draft because he was in college. He had even been involved in some student protests against the war. But, there was still a part of him that had always regretted not serving his country like the other young men his age.

"I've heard that it hasn't been easy for him…even as a cop."

Sister Jane smiled a soft tender smile that touched Hutch. "David has always done things his way…sometimes that makes things harder for him than they need to be. He can be very stubborn and bull headed at times, but underneath it all, if you can get past that wall he's build around himself, you'll find the gentlest, most caring man you'd ever want to meet. A man who is loyal and trustworthy to a fault. A lonely man who needs a true friend. Someone he can count on to always be there for him." She looked at Hutch knowingly. "Maybe even a man like you."

"I'm only here temporarily. I'll be going back to California when this case is over. But, you are right about one thing: Starsky is not that easy to get to know. He does his damnedest to keep you from getting too close."

"Yes, I know but that's his way of protecting himself from getting hurt. He's been hurt so much in his life. Don't underestimate him, and don't believe everything you might hear about him. He's a good man and a good cop." Sister Jane glanced at the clock on the wall behind Hutch. "I'm afraid I have an appointment I must tend to. Maybe we can talk again later."

"I'd like that." Hutch watched as she walked away, disappearing into her office and closing the door. He added this new information about Starsky to what he had already learned about the man. He seemed to be different things to different people and Hutch knew that he still couldn't grasp the essence of the man.

During the supper rounds, Hutch found Starsky at a different location than earlier. This time he was in the company of a much younger man with long, blond hair and brown eyes. The younger man seemed to be hanging on Starsky's every word and looked at him with an expression that bordered on physical attraction. Obviously, Starsky had made a new friend..

Curious, Hutch watched their interaction as he passed out the meal boxes. Starsky openly encouraged the younger man's attentions, allowing a brief touch now and then. Hutch had to hand it to him, Starsky was a chameleon who appeared to be able to adapt to any role he had to play to get the job done. Being undercover literally meant becoming someone else; adopting a new personality to fit the role you are being required to play. Some officers were good at it, and others were not. Hutch had taken some acting classes in college that helped him when he went undercover, but, Starsky seemed to be a natural.

When he handed Starsky his box, he felt Starsky pass a small folded piece of paper back. Hutch closed his hand while avoiding eye contact with Starsky. He finished passing out his share of the boxes then told his co-worker that he was taking a break. He ducked into a nearby alley on the pretense of relieving himself and turned his back so he was shielded from view from the street as he unfolded the piece of paper and read the nearly illegible scrawl:

 _ **Meet me at midnight at the storm drain two blocks east of your motel. Bring a soda and some chips. And a pack of smokes.**_

Hutch had to smile at the last part of the note. The meals the mission provided might be nutritious, but they weren't exactly filling. And sodas and chips definitely weren't on the menu.

At the designated time, Hutch found himself standing at the entrance to a dark storm drain. There was no sign of life other then the nocturnal kind that scurried around in the darkness. He was startled when a voice said from out of the darkness.

"Don't just stand there. Get in here."

Hutch hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the darkness. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, he was able to make out Starsky's figure standing against the wall of the drain. He handed him the bag with the soda, chips, and cigarettes.

"I didn't know you smoked" he said mildly

"I don't." Starsky told him. "The smokes are for a friend. So are the chips and soda."

Hutch wondered if he was referring to the friend he had seen Starsky with earlier that day, but he didn't ask. He listened as Starsky continued his report.

"Everyone on the streets is on edge. They're all afraid that they could be next. They're following Sister Jane's advice and trying to stay in groups and not go anywhere alone where they could be an easy target. That's hard for the hookers to abide by since they still have to be alone with their trick to make a living. So most of them are only going with johns they know and trust."

"They're still vulnerable. There's no way of knowing how this guy gets close to his victims," Hutch pointed out. "He could be someone they already know and trust."

'Which makes our job that much harder."

"Where are you going to sleep tonight?"

"On the street. Where do you think?" Starsky smirked. "Don't worry, mom. I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself."

"How am I supposed to find you if I need to?" Hutch asked in an annoyed tone.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll stay in the second block down from your motel. That way you only have to look down one street to find me. Deal?"

"Deal," Hutch agreed. It wasn't a perfect scenario, but he knew it was the best he was going to get. They both knew that Hutch wouldn't break Starsky's cover unless he had no other choice. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya," Starsky said. He turned and disappeared further into the darkness of the storm drain, leaving Hutch to head back to his motel.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Three days later, Starsky was no where to be found during the morning rounds of the meal wagon. Hutch didn't really worry until he was noticeably absent that evening, too. He made a mental note to start looking for him as soon as possible. When he checked to see if there were any messages from him at headquarters, he was informed that another body had been found. Hutch immediately went to the scene.

Flashing his ID when he arrived, he was allowed past the perimeter of the crime scene. Nodding at a couple of uniformed officers that he remembered seeing around the station, he walked over to where a body lay on the ground in a body bag. The top half of the bag was unzipped so the victim's face could be seen. Hutch caught his breath when he recognized the body as the young man that Starsky had been seen with for the past three days before his disappearance.

"Any ID?" he asked gruffly

A uniformed officer nearby shook his head. "Naw, just another skid row Joe. We'll probably never know his name. Just another vic the city's gonna have to bury." The patrolman's voice was bored and disinterested, his contempt for the homeless population in the city painfully obvious in his tone.

"He's still a human being who could have a mother or a sister or even a wife and family out there somewhere," Hutch said a bit more sharply then he intended. "We owe him the respect of doing our best to find out."

Duly chastised, the other officer scowled but kept his mouth shut in deference to Hutch's rank.

The medical examiner kneeling on the opposite side of the body, a woman in her mid-thirties with frosted hair, did her best to hide a satisfied smile. In a professional voice, she said, "He was killed like the other victims. Beaten to death with an object similar to a lead pipe or a baseball bat. Genitals mutilated, but no other signs of sexual abuse." She nodded at a pile of clothes on the ground near-by. "He was stripped, and his clothes were left behind. No ID. Nothing in the pockets except a night pass for the local mission dated for last night."

"A night pass?" Hutch asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Yes, the local mission on Wilmington Avenue gives out a pass to the first seventy-five people to check in for a room for the night. Anyone after that gets turned away."

"What's the name of this Mission?"

"The Angels of Hope. It's on the corner of Wilmington Avenue and Grant Street."

"Thank you. I'll check that out and see whether or not he showed up there last night. I've seen enough. You're free to take the body."

"Thank you officer," The M.E. said as she turned her attention to the task at hand.

Hutch rose to his feet and strode back to his car. Next stop…The Angels of Hope.

The Angels of Hope Mission was located in a rundown brick building in mid-town. The walls were covered with graffiti, and metal bars covered the windows (at least the ones that hadn't been broken and covered with large pieces of plywood.) Trash littered the street and, overflowing trashcans sat at the curb. Hutch stepped through the front door to find himself in a large, open room filled with cots on one side and long tables on the other. A sister, with a fresh face and freckles, smiled at him warmly. She was dressed in the traditional attire of a nun set off by a red sash around her waist.

"May I help you?" she asked in a soft, barely audible voice.

"I'm Detective Hutchinson. I need to speak to someone in charge."

"That would be Sister Mary. Please wait here while I find her for you."

Hutch did just that as the young nun went in search of the nun in charge. He took the opportunity to take a closer look around. There were a few men and one woman sitting at a table at the far end of the room. They all looked like part of the homeless population. They were just sitting there, staring at the walls. Not talking, not moving, just sitting. The faint aroma of food cooking drifted into the room from another part of the building.

He turned as the young nun came back into the room followed by an older woman in her late fifties to early sixties with wisps of white hair peeping out from beneath her head covering. Her blue eyes were both alert and intelligent as she surveyed Hutch's face intently.

"How may I help you, young man? Sister Grace tells me that you are a police officer."

"Yes, ma'am," Hutch removed the leather case from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to her to examine. "I'm Detective Hutchinson. I'm here from California to assist the local police on one of their cases."

"The slasher case," she guessed. Satisfied with his credentials, she handed him back his ID.

"Yes, ma'am. There's been another victim, and he had one of your sign-in passes in his pocket for last night. Can you tell me if everyone who signed in for a bed actually slept here last night?"

"It's not usual to have one or two no shows. Last night we had three. Brain, Jimmy, and Dave."

"Were any of them a young man in his twenties with blonde hair and brown eyes? Early to mid-twenties?"

"That sounds like Jimmy. He's been hanging around with Dave recently. Dave's relatively new to this area. He's an older man with dark, curly hair and blue eyes. I don't think he's been living on the streets for very long. He doesn't strike me as the type to be homeless for long."

Hutch nodded, guarding his actions so the sister wouldn't pick up on his reaction to her description of David Starsky. "Do you have a last name for Jimmy or Dave?"

"No, I'm afraid not. We don't require them, and we try not to pry. We want the people out there to trust us."

"I can understand that. Did Jimmy or Dave hang with anyone else that you know of?"

"No. But, like I said, Dave has only been here for the last few days, not really enough time to get to know a lot of the others out there. And Dave is the first person I've ever really seen Jimmy hang out with at all. He kept pretty much to himself. He had a terrible stutter, and I think he was embarrassed by it. I also saw some scars on his back once. I think he was probably abused by someone close to him at one time." She paused and then added, "Jimmy's been here for about 6 months I would guess. He started coming here around that time. You think that Jimmy was your most recent victim, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, from your description, I do," Hutch told her solemnly. "You've been a big help, Sister. I wish I had come under different circumstances." He opened his wallet and gave her one of his cards; on the back he had written the numbers for his hotel and the local precinct. "Please give me a call if you see Dave. I have a few questions I'd like to ask him."

"You're welcome. And could you let me know when your investigation is over? If Jimmy is your newest victim, then the other sisters and I will make sure that he gets a proper burial."

"I'll make sure that someone notifies you," Hutch assured her. He left the mission confident that he at least had a first name for his latest victim, but no closer to finding his missing temporary partner. He paused on the street outside to talk to an old man with a bent back and dull, watery eyes.

"Excuse me but do you know a couple of men named Dave and Jimmy? They hung out in this area."

The man turned his watery gaze on Hutch and seemed to be thinking about the question. "What's in it for me?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

Hutch sighed softly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a five dollar bill. "How about enough for a hot meal and some coffee…or a pint of old thunderbird."

A trembling hand reached for the money, but Hutch held it just out of reach. "Answer my question first," he coaxed.

"Don't know nothing except that they'd been bedding down in the alley behind the thrift store on the corner," the old man said. He reached for the money again, and this time Hutch let him have it. Eager fingers closed into a tight fist around it as the old man scurried away to spend his unexpected windfall.

Hutch walked down the street and to the alley in question. It looked like Dave and Jimmy hadn't been the only ones camping there. The entire length of the alley was littered with makeshift shelters made out of discarded cardboard boxes or torn rags bundled together to sleep on. Hutch walked down the shadowy passageway, his eyes scanning each spot carefully until he found what he was looking for: the discarded potato chip bag, empty soda bottle, and pack of cigarettes that Hutch had bought. The cigarette pack still had three cigarettes left in it.

Hutch's trained eye examined the immediate area but found no signs of a struggle or any violence. Whatever had happened to the two men, it hadn't happened here. The suspect had never taken more than one victim at a time. What had changed this time? Was Dave Starsky a victim of the slasher, too, or was there another explanation for his disappearance? It was time to call in reinforcements.

Hutch returned to headquarters long enough to report his latest discoveries and to gather enough personnel to question the homeless residents within a three block radius of the mission and Starsky's temporary shelter. Six hours later, the group of officers gathered back at headquarters to compare notes.

They discovered that most of the homeless of the city watched out for each other and had an extensive network among themselves. Although he had only been there for a short time, Dave was well liked, while Jimmy was a loner who didn't really associate with anyone until Dave showed up. There were suspicions among the other residents of the area that Jimmy was a homosexual and that was why he kept to himself. Hutch remembered the way Jimmy had looked at Starsky the few times he had seen them together, and he tended to agree. Jimmy had acted like a love-struck teenager with his first crush.

On the other hand, they all seemed to agree that Starsky was definitely straight, and that he hadn't been homeless for long. None of them appeared to suspect that he could be a cop. They all agreed that he was easy to talk to and always seemed to be willing to listen.

The last time anyone could remember seeing either one of them was around ten P.M. the night before. Jimmy was heading to the mission to bed down for the night, and Starsky was supposed to be joining him there around eleven. Hutch wondered if Starsky had been planning to use that hour to find a way to contact him with new information on the case.

Nobody reported any strangers in the area or anything else unusual happening within the past 48 hours. Frustrated with this new turn of events, Hutch returned to his hotel room exhausted and in a foul mood.

He found a message tucked under the door to his room. Closing the door securely, he picked up the small folded piece of paper and opened it. It read:

 _You cops aren't as smart as you think you are. You will never catch me because I'm too smart for all of you. I wonder just how loud I can make a pig squeal. I can't wait to find out._

Hutch cursed under his breath at the message. How the hell did this guy know he and Starsky were cops? Whoever wrote the note obviously had Starsky, or at least wanted Hutch to believe that he did. Sleep was forgotten as he left his room and headed back downtown to report the newest twist to the case.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Wakey, wakey…" the voice chanted in Starsky's ear. Reluctantly, Starsky forced his eyes open, blinking against the blinding light trained directly in his face. A sudden, unexpected blow to his mid-section drove the air from his lungs. He gasped for air as the disembodied voice continued, "I never played games with a cop before. I'm looking forward to it. This should be fun. Not so much for you…but it will be for me. I can't wait to get started, but I have a few other things to do first."

He punctuated his words with another solid blow to Starsky's unprotected stomach. The brunet struggled to remain conscious as he heard heavy footsteps and then the slamming of a door, followed by what sounded like a lock being fastened from the outside.

Starsky concentrated on trying to draw air into his tortured lungs. After several long minutes, he was finally able to breathe normally again. He peered into the darkness surrounding him as he tried to identify his location.

A mixture of smells filled the air. Rotten carpet. Mildrew. A distinctive musty odor. Urine and feces. The rancid smell of something rotting nearby. He listened carefully and heard wind blowing through broken window panes, rats or mice skittering around in the walls, water dripping somewhere in the room and the muted sound of traffic outside.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see broken pieces of furniture littering the room, crumbling brick walls covered with graffiti. The floor was littered with used condoms, discarded fast food containers, old newspapers, empty beer cans and alcohol bottles, cigarette butts and used needles. He seemed to be in a basement of some sort or some other underground location.

As his head cleared and he became more alert, he realized that his hands were securely fastened to a steel pipe above his head and his shirt was missing. He was also missing one shoe and sock. The throbbing ache in his head suggested a severe blow to the head that had rendered him unconscious for an unknown period of time.

Starsky tested the ropes binding his wrists but it was strong and relatively new, there was no give to it and it was tied tightly enough to make his hands feel numb. His stomach and ribs were both extremely tender and it hurt to take a deep breath. Obviously, his captor had gotten his kicks by hitting him or kicking him while he was unconscious.

Starsky closed his eyes and searched his mind for his last coherent memory. He had parted ways with Jimmy just behind the Mission. He planned on meeting Jimmy there later to spend the night. He was three blocks away from the phone on forty-second street when he heard footsteps behind him. End of memory until he woke up here.

And here could be anywhere in the damn city. There were hundreds of abandoned buildings to choose from. This could be any one of them. Starsky knew that he was in trouble. He hoped the cop from California knew his ass from a hole in the ground and found him before it was too late. Sadly, he didn't think he could place the same faith in his co-workers to put forth much effort in finding him. He had made too many enemies in his own precinct just by being himself and refusing to bow down to superior officers that he didn't trust or respect.

The air in the room was hot and stuffy, making it hard to breathe. Bruised ribs also made it hard to draw in a deep enough breath to satisfy his oxygen hungry lungs. With no reference for time, Starsky had no idea how much time had passed before his captor returned.

The sudden glare as the overhead light was switched on blinded him momentarily. As his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, he saw his captor for the first time. Automatically he cataloged the man's features. Average height and weight, brown hair neatly trimmed, blue eyes, a rugged look with a lightly tanned skin, no distinguishing features, or scars that would set him apart from anyone else on the street. Average appearance, casual clothing, the type of man you would pass on the street without a second look. A possible serial killer who could blend in with his surroundings and disappear in plain sight.

Starsky had a remarkable memory when it came to wanted posters, mug shots and missing person alerts. He knew he had never seen this man's picture before in any of the usual places. No previous arrest record, nothing to set him apart from other men his age, and a bi-coastal crime spree all explained how he had managed to stay under the radar for so long.

When he spoke, even his voice sounded average with no distinguishable accents or changes in pitch to make it memorable. "Now, Officer Starsky, shall we begin? I am curious to know how you found me so quickly."

"Detective," Starsky automatically corrected him. "And we didn't find you…we weren't even close."

The man frowned as he considered Starsky's answer. "Frankly, I find that hard to believe. You clearly figured out my victim of choice and where I find them."

"Unfortunately, the homeless are one of the most common victim pools."

"Aww…but not the ones who are _homosexual._ They are relatively rare in the homeless population but, not so much among the hookers and hustlers in your fair city."

"So who is it that you're really targeting? The homeless, the hookers or anyone who happens to be gay? Or is it all three?"

The man smiled thinly and shrugged his shoulders. "Whoever happened to be the most convenient at the time I suppose…I never really thought about it."

"And I find that hard to believe." Starsky said with a snort.

To Starsky's surprise, the man burst into laughter. Taking a step closer to his captive audience, he said in a quietly deceiving voice, "You're right…I enjoy watching them die…hearing their screams…just like I'm looking forward to hearing your screams…"

"Give it your best shot…I ain't gonna go easy…" Starsky said with a defiant tilt of his head.

"I don't expect you to." The man moved over to a darkened corner of the room and pulled a table across the concrete floor into the light. Starsky kept his expression guarded as he looked at the array of knifes and other implements of torture neatly arranged on top of the table. The man ran a fore-finger lightly across the blade on one of the knifes, holding up his hand to show Starsky the thin line of blood on the skin, proving that the blades were razor sharp. "I'm going to enjoy finding ways to make you squeal…"

To Starsky's dismay, the man turned and left the room, leaving the light on and the table sitting where Starsky could look at the items that would be used to torture him. Obviously, psychological and mental torture was also part of his game that he enjoyed.

As the minutes turned into hours, Starsky's body made other physical needs known. His stomach growled with hunger and his throat and mouth felt parched and dry. His bladder felt uncomfortably full and he knew that, eventually, he would involuntarily lose control and his bladder would empty by itself. Sometime later, it did just that.

Waiting for his captor to return and for the torture to begin worn on Starsky's nerves. He had no doubt that the pain would be bad and that he could easily end up as another one of the man's victims. But, giving up without a fight was simply not in his nature.

He must have dozed off. He was rudely awakened by a sharp burning sting that sent a trail of fire across his chest and stomach. His eyes flew open just as the man swung the whip again, hitting him across the tender part of his stomach. Starsky clenched his jaw tight and held back the scream that wanted to break free. Another lash caught him across the chest, the end of the whip wrapping around his left shoulder to his back.

The whipping continued as the man moved around behind Starsky out of his line of sight. Again and again the lash fell across his unprotected flesh, leaving behind welts and open wounds that sent trails of blood down his back. Starsky held back his screams but he could not control the groans and grunts of pain that escaped his throat.

The beating continued until Starsky retreated into the darkness where he could escape from the pain for awhile. He never knew when the beating stopped and the man left, plunging the room back into darkness, switching off the overhead light as he walked through the door.

Sometime later, Starsky forced open his eyes. He panicked momentarily when he could see anything through the darkness. At first he thought the man had blinded him until his senses cleared enough for him to realize that the man had simply turned off the light.

He reasoned that it must be nighttime outside because of the depth of the darkness in the room. Earlier, a few muted rays of light had filtered in through the dirty panes of glass on the one window at the far end of the room.

His chest and back felt like it was on a fire. A brutal reminder of the beating he'd received. It hurt like hell, but he'd endured worse in the jungles of Viet Nam. He had a feeling this was only a mild taste of what lay ahead. He closed his eyes, trying to rest as much as he could. He knew that he was going to need all of his strength in the hours that lay ahead. He was not afraid of dying, but he didn't want to die alone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The mysterious note that Hutch had found under his door yielded a partial print. The print boys were running it, but weren't very optimistic about finding a match since it was so small. Still, it was the first tangible clue they had found in the case, and Hutch was hopeful.

Hutch was in the squad room pouring over the thick file on the case once more, hoping to find something, no matter how insignificant that might have been missed. He glanced up as an attractive brunette named Tanya Tayler sat down across from him. The attractive brunette was an undercover officer with the vice squad that Hutch had been introduced to during his initial tour of the department. Rumors around the squad claimed that she had been in an off again, on again relationship with Starsky for years.

"I hope you find Davy. He's important to a lot of people," She said offhandedly.

"Including you?" Hutch asked casually.

"Not so much me as his mother and his brother…his friends. He's not as bad as some of the jerks around try to make it sound. He's had a hard life; he's learned to keep his distance from people and not let anyone get too close."

"He sure as hell does a good job of that," Hutch said dryly.

"He can be a stubborn, hard-nosed son of a bitch, but on the other hand, he can also be the kindest, gentlest man I've ever known. He had to grow up fast. Be the man of the house at ten after his dad was killed. Then he spent four years in Viet Nam, years that took their toll and changed who he was. He came back a bitter, disillusioned man who didn't trust anybody except himself. And he still doesn't."

"From what I've seen, his own squad thinks he's either psychotic or suicidal."

"Is that what you think?" she countered with a thin smile.

"As long as he doesn't get me killed, I don't really care."

"I don't believe that. I think you and David are more alike than you realize."

"Yeah," Hutch agreed with a smile. "We've both stubborn, hard-nosed sons of bitches who prefer to work alone and don't trust anyone but ourselves."

"Sometimes David pushes things too far, but he gets the job down. I suspect that you do, too. The two of you would be good together if you'd each just open up a little and stop butting heads every time you turn around."

"You sound like the department shrink," Hutch told her with a chuckle.

"Don't let the packaging fool you," Tanya said with a grin as she swept her hand from her head to her waist indicating her current outfit, a short tight leather mini shirt, black fishnet hose, and a clingy, cream-colored blouse that showed off two of her best assets. Creamy, unblemished skin, long dark hair, and delicate features with big, blue eyes and a lush mouth designed for kissing, made her a very beautiful woman. "I have a dual master's degree in psychology and social work."

Hutch looked at her with a newfound respect and admiration. It was hard to be a woman in a male-dominated world like the police department, and it was even harder to be an intelligent, educated woman in that world. Hutch had encountered his own brand of reverse discrimination over the years because of his own college degree, a combination of pre-med and criminal justice.

"Rumor around here is that you and Starsky are some kind of item."

Tanya's laugh filled the air causing officers at near-by desks to glance in their direction before turning their attention back to their own work.

"David and I are friends, good friends, but that's as far as things go with us. We started out as an item but decided we were better off the way things are now. If you listen to all the rumors that float around this place, I'm a man-hating lesbian with three kids, and David is a pariah who gets anyone who works with him killed."

"I don't know about the lesbian part," Hutch told her with a grin, "But, I've been told my life expectancy may be cut drastically short by working with Starsky."

"David would give his own life to protect someone else…it's true his last three partners have ended up dead but what happened to them wasn't David's fault."

"What did happen to them?"

"Billy Raymes got caught in the cross fire when a bust went bad, and Tommy Willis ate his gun after his wife left him and took their four kids along with all the money in their bank account. His first partner, Randy Hughes, had cancer, but he didn't want anyone in the department to know. It was an inoperable brain tumor, so there wasn't that much of a change in his appearance, even at the end."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does, but David dealt with it and all the rumors that went along with it."

Tanya rose gracefully to her feet and left the squad room, leaving Hutch with new facets of his temporary partner to analyze and process.

Hutch finished skimming through the file, finally closing it with a heavy sigh when it failed to yield any new information that he could find. It had been three days. As far as anyone knew, the slasher had never kept a victim alive longer then four days before he murdered them and dumped the body. Starsky didn't have much time left.

As he grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it, preparing to return to his hotel room for the evening, a young rookie with fresh-scrubbed looks and a neatly pressed uniform came over to him.

"Detective Hutchinson?" he asked nervously

"That's me."

The younger man handed him a slim file folder and said, "This is for you."

As the youngster scurried away, Hutch opened the file. It was the report on the partial print that had been on the message left under Hutch's door. His heart began to pound as his eyes scanned the results. A match had been found. Finally, a clue that could help solve the case!

The partial print found on the note shoved under Hutch's door belonged to a drifter named Andy Porter. He had a record in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles for minor offenses: loitering, public intoxication, shop lifting, and petty theft. But there was nothing violent that would implicate him in the string of murders on both coasts.

As a transient, he had no permanent address, drifting from one place to another, staying in flop houses, shelters and sleeping in abandoned buildings. The only other link that could connect him to the murders was the fact that he was the registered owner of a twenty-year-old, battered, light-colored van.

The problem would be finding him to question him about the murders. An old mug shot showed an average-looking man with neatly cut brown hair, blue eyes and average features. No scars or other deformities to set him apart. Everything about the man was average, which made him even harder to pick out of a lineup.

Hutch put out an A.P.B. on his suspect before leaving the station for the evening.

He was stopped in front of his hotel by a local hooker who went by the name of Sissy. She was young, probably younger then the nineteen her ID said she was. She was pretty in her own way, with a freshly scrubbed face, no make-up other than some clear lip gloss, and short blonde hair cut in the latest style. She wore a pair of short shorts that barely covered her ample butt cheeks, and a low cut tee shirt that gave a clear view of her nipples when she leaned forward.

"Hey, sugar…how about some loving?"

"Sorry, honey," Hutch told her with a tender smile to take the sting out of his rejection. "Not tonight." He took a ten dollar bill out of his pocket and folded it in half, slipping it between the mounds of her breasts. "Go buy yourself something pretty. Okay?"

"Hey, baby…I can make it real good…ya know? Anything you want. Anal, oral, golden shower, S and M…whatever turns you on…" she coaxed as she ran long fingers down the inside of his arm.

"I said not tonight." Hutch told her a bit more firmly.

Sissy leaned in forward as if she were going to kiss him and hissed, "Look, I really need to talk to you. Word on the street is you can be trusted…It's about the slasher…"

Hutch's expression remained the same as he took her by the arm and led her into the hotel. He ignored the disapproving look of the desk clerk as he led Sissy down the hall to his room. Once they were inside with the door securely closed and locked, he looked at her sternly. "Okay, what do you have to tell me?"

"Word is that he has Starsky, and that Curly is going to be his next victim."

"Tell me something I don't know already."

"I might know where they are…" Sissy said after a slight hesitation.

"Where?"

"If I tell you than you have to help me, man. I want off the streets…"

"I'm sure we can work something out."

"And I want out of this town. I wanna live somewhere down south…like Florida…where it's warm all the time."

"Done. Tell me what you know?"

"How do I know I can trust you? I want it in writing and signed by the big shots before I tell you anything."

Hutch grabbed her arm, squeezing just tight enough to make her wince, but not tight enough to hurt her. "How about I bust you right now for solicitation and attempting to bribe an officer of the law?"

"Okay, okay…" Sissy hissed as she pulled away from his grasp. "I guess I'll just have to take your word for it."

"Where are they?"

"In an abandoned house over on Lexington Avenue…39077 Lexington. He's got Curly in the basement."

"How do you know that?"

"Cause this guy has needs just like everybody else and he likes to talk…" Sissy said with a smirk. "He don't look dangerous but he still scared the hell out of me. He was drinking and snorting pills and I think he told me a little bit more than he meant to. I got out of there before he sobered up and remembered about running his mouth so much."

"Okay, let's go." Hutch said, grabbing her arm again.

"Go? Go where?" Sissy demanded. "I told you what I know…you got no reason to bust me!"

"I'm not busting you," Hutch told her. "I'm putting you in protective custody to get you off the streets until we catch this guy. But, for your own safety, it's better if we make it look like a legitimate bust."

"Okay, I guess…" Sissy said in a doubtful tone. "As long as you're not really busting me."

"I'm not." Hutch escorted her back out of his room and down the hall to a payphone where he made sure to talk loud for the desk clerk to hear him calling headquarters and requesting the closest black and white to pick up a female charged with solicitation for transport to headquarters. He also requisitioned an additional unit to check out the address Sissy had given him.

Forty-five minutes later, he arrived at the address on Lexington Avenue. The abandoned property was run down with a tiny yard full of weeds and a broken sidewalk leading to a sagging porch. The windows had been broken and then boarded over, and the exterior of the house had been covered with gang-related graffiti. There was a deserted, almost ominous feel, to the property that made the hair on the back of Hutch's neck rise.

"Keep an eye on the front," Hutch told the uniformed officer accompanying him. "I'm going in. Give me twenty minutes and if I'm not back, then call for back up."

"You got it, Sergeant," the uniformed officer said placidly.

Hutch ignored him as he drew his weapon and began walking towards the front door. He hoped that the uniformed officer was a better cop than his burned-out attitude suggested.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Hutch slammed his shoulder against the sagging front door without any advance warning of his presence. The door slammed inward, and Hutch stumbled into the front room of the house. It was furnished, but most of the furnishings were stained and dirty from years of disuse. A musty smell hung in the air that added to the desolate, abandoned feeling that penetrated the residence,

Hutch automatically fell into a crouch, his gun sweeping the room as his eyes looked for unseen danger. Instinct told him that the room was empty and that there was nobody hiding on the first floor of the house. Still, he did a slow, cautious sweep of the lower story making sure that his instincts were right.

There were only two places left to search: upstairs and the basement. After a moment's hesitation, Hutch opened the door in the kitchen that he assumed led to the basement of the house. A wooden stairway disappeared into the darkness. Hutch paused in the doorway, listening intently, but the only thing he heard was the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

Using his left hand, he felt along the wall for a light switch but didn't find one. Cautiously, he descended into the darkness, one step at a time. At the bottom of the steps, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and gloom that blanketed the room. A tiny ray of sunlight filtered through a dirty, cracked window to his left, throwing enough light into the room for him to see a cord hanging down from the ceiling at the bottom of the steps. Pulling it, the room became dimly lit by a low-wattage bulb. The corners remained filled with dark, menacing shadows, but the rest of the room had enough light to see clearly.

In the middle of the room, a nearly nude Starsky hung by his wrists from a rope that was draped over a water pipe that ran above his head. His head was bowed with his chin resting against his chest. It was impossible to tell if he was dead or merely unconscious. Although Hutch's first impulse was to check on Starsky's condition, he knew he needed to make sure that his suspect wasn't hiding in the shadows of the room waiting to attack at the first opportunity. He quickly searched each corner before finally turning his attention to his temporary partner.

He pressed two fingers against the side of Starsky's neck. The skin was cold to his touch, but he could feel a faint, fluttering heartbeat that continued to beat against all odds. Starsky's entire body was covered with cuts, bruises, scrapes and burns, silent evidence of the abuse he had been subjected to during his disappearance. Injuries that mirrored the Slasher's previous victims. Hutch wondered if his arrival had interrupted the ritual and inadvertently saved Starsky from being another one of the man's victims.

Hutch didn't want to leave him now that he had found him, but he knew that he had to summon medical help immediately. He sensed that Starsky didn't have much time left if he didn't.

Holstering his gun, Hutch bounded back up the steps and run outside, startling his backup who was lounging against the fender of his car looking bored.

"Call an ambulance! Tell them officer needs assistance!" Hutch yelled before turning and running back into the house. He would make sure the other office was reprimanded properly later for his negligence during what could have easily have been a volatile situation.

Racing back down the steps, Hutch pulled out his pocketknife and carefully cut the rope that bound Starsky's hands. He caught the man's weight in his arms as Starsky slumped forward, slowly lowering him to the floor and kneeling beside him. He rested Starsky's head and shoulders in his lap as he waited for help to arrive.

Starsky's face was battered and bruised with a wicked looking cut running down his right cheek. Chunks of his hair had either been cut or pulled out, leaving a few bald spots. His breathing was shallow with the ominous sound police officers often referred to as 'a death rattle' indicating that his lungs were filling with liquid, probably blood, and impairing his breathing. Ragged nails, bruised knuckles, and severely lacerated wrists all showed that Starsky had fought back as much as he could against his attacker.

Hutch lifted his head as he heard the first faint sound of a siren in the distance. The sound grew louder as the emergency vehicle got closer, then faded abruptly as it stopped outside the house. A few minutes later, footsteps came running down the stairs as two paramedics arrived on the scene. Hutch carefully moved to one side, surrendering Starsky's care to them.

He straightened up, wincing at the pull in his back, muscles protesting the awkward position he had been in. Other emergency personnel began to arrive, including a rescue team with a flood light that was used to light up the room. Hutch's eyes swept around the now brightly-lit room, noting the table littered with knifes, a chain, a wooden baseball bat, brass knuckles, an ice pick, a cattle prod, and other implements that had been used to torture Starsky, all of them stained with the injured man's blood.

Hutch felt a surge of new found respect towards Starsky. He wasn't sure that he could have endured what Starsky obviously had for so long. How had his captor reacted to Starsky's endurance? Had he been shocked, or had he welcomed the challenge of breaking Starsky and making him scream before he killed him? Hutch wondered if he would ever know the answer to that question. An APB was still in effect for their suspect but so far he seemed to have slipped through their dragnet again.

Bits of the conversation between the paramedics filtered through to Hutch.

"… _internal bleed…possible rupture of the spleen…"_

"… _pupils dilated and unresponsive…"_

" _Blood pressure bottoming out…We're losing him!"_

There was a sudden flurry of activity as Starsky was loaded onto a stretcher and carried from the basement to the waiting ambulance.

"I'm going with him," Hutch said in a determined voice as he climbed into the back of ambulance with the man he now considered his partner and not just a temporary one.

"Alright, but stay out of the way." the paramedic said as he made sure Starsky was strapped in and he sat at his patient's head to continue to monitor his condition on the way to the hospital. He had worked with enough cops to know that it was no use arguing with the big blond sitting on the bench across from him. The normal rules didn't apply to them, especially when the patient was their partner.

The ride to the hospital didn't take long, and once they arrived, Starsky disappeared behind closed doors while Hutch was left behind. A young nurse approached him cautiously.

"Excuse me, but I need some information about your partner. Do you have a contact number for his next of kin?"

Hutch shook his head. "No, I'm sorry I don't know, but his commanding officer should be here soon. I'll let him know that you need that information."

"Thank you," she said as she scurried away to attend to more pressing concerns.

Hutch began to pace the narrow confines of the waiting room, pointedly ignoring the glances from the nursing staff and the other people waiting as they stared at his blood stained jeans and shirt. Finally, an older nurse with a no nonsense attitude approached him.

"Excuse me, young man, but your appearance is upsetting some of the other patients waiting to be seen. If you'll come with me I'll show you where you can wash up and I'll get you some scrubs to change into while I have the laundry wash your clothes."

Hutch remembered to thank her as he followed her down the hall to the resident's lounge.

Thirty minutes later, dressed in a pair of dark blue scrubs, he returned to the waiting room to find it occupied by Captain Drew and a woman in her early to mid-fifties accompanied by a man in his mid to late twenties. Due to the strong resemblance they shared, he assumed that they must be Starsky's immediate family.

The woman was obviously upset, dabbing at her eyes with a balled up wad of Kleenex. The young man had a bored expression on his face and was openly flirting with a young nurse's aide. He was dressed in neatly pressed blue jeans and a tight-fitting tee shirt with a gold chain around his neck and a gold watch on his wrist. Hutch easily identified the jewelry as cheap knockoffs. Both the man and the woman shared the same dark blue eyes and thick curls as Starsky.

"Detective Hutchinson," Captain Drew said when he saw him. "This is Detective Starsky's mother, Rachel, and his brother, Nick." To the Starsky family, he said, "This is Detective Hutchinson. He's the officer from California that I told you about. He's the one who found David."

Rachel Starsky grabbed his hand and said gratefully, "Thank you! Thank you so much for finding my Davey!"

"Aww, Maw…" Nick whined in the background. "He was just doing what he gets paid for... "

"Mind your tongue, Nicolas Starsky," his mother chastised him in the universal tone that mother's use to warn an unruly child to behave. "This man saved your brother's life, and you will show him the respect that he deserves."

Nick Starsky's face flushed with embarrassment, and his eyes darkened with anger, but he held his tongue. To Hutch, the dynamics he had seen so far of the Starsky family indicated that Starsky was the favored son, and that Nicholas Starsky resented it.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Captain Drew suggested "It will be awhile before we hear anything about David's condition."

"Look, Ma…." Nick Starsky whined, "I got things to do. You can call me if anything happens I need to know about. I gotta go…"

"Go…" Rachel said with an absent wave of her hand. Hutch heard the irritated tone in her voice but, she didn't insist that her youngest son stay. Indulging him was probably easier and less stressful than arguing with him.

Nicky grinned and gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek before turning and sauntering down the hallway towards the exit.

Rachel Starsky sighed softly as she sat down on one of the battered leather chairs lining the far wall. She looked at Hutch and Captain Drew with hooded eyes that barely concealed her embarrassment. "He doesn't mean any disrespect," she said. "He's young…he has his own life…'

"You don't need to apologize," Hutch said smoothly. "It's harder for some people to show their concern than it is for others." _Especially if they've been spoiled for their whole life and are used to getting their way,_ he thought to himself.

"He hasn't felt comfortable in hospitals since his father died," Rachel said, still feeling the need to apologize for her youngest son's rudeness.

"That's understandable," Hutch said graciously. "Why don't I get us all some coffee while we wait?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked down the hall toward the vending machines at the other end of the hall.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

It was almost four hours before a weary looking doctor in a blood stained set of scrubs came into the waiting room and announced, "Family for David Starsky?"

Rachel Starsky, Captain Drew and Hutch all stepped forward. The doctor raised his eyebrows questioningly until Captain Drew said, "Sergeant Starskyis one of my men. I'm Captain Drew, NYPD. This is Sergeant Hutchinson who is working with Sergeant Starsky at the moment and this is Sergeant Starsky's mother."

The doctor nodded and moved to a vacant corner of the waiting room where they could talk privately. Solemnly, he said, "Sergeant Starsky suffered several serious injuries including four broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, a punctured lung, and severely bruised kidneys. He also has several severe lacerations and abrasions with severe bruising over most of his body. He's lost a lot of blood and is seriously dehydrated. The next forty-eight hours are critical but, he's young and in relatively good health before this happened, so I'm confident that he will make a complete recovery."

"Can I see him?" Mrs. Starsky asked in a worried voice

"He's still in recovery and then he will be moved to I.C.U. I'll have a nurse come get you shortly and you can see him for a few minutes. Then I want you all to go home and get some rest. He probably won't regain consciousness until sometime tomorrow afternoon."

With a curt nod, Captain Drew led the way back to the seats they had vacated. They all settled down to wait a little longer. Rachel fidgeted restlessly. Finally, she said,

"I knew something like this would happen. I warned David. I did. I told him that he'd end up like his father." She sighed heavily. "Maybe now he'll finally listen to me and give up this foolishness. He was lucky this time but he's not a cat. He doesn't have nine lives."

Hutch and Captain Drew listened to her rant in silence. It was easy to dismiss it as the hysteria of a worried mother. At one time or another, both men had heard similar tirades from other family members over the years.

When neither man validated her feelings, Rachel's mouth tightened into a hard, thin line. Her argument with her eldest son concerning his chosen profession was an old one. He didn't dismiss her concern for his safety but acknowledged the danger of his job. Still, he refused to even consider a lateral move to a safer position on the force. He enjoyed working the streets even if he was a pariah with his own peers. He was definitely his father's son. They both were hard headed and stubborn men who chose to do things their own way. That trait had cost her husband his life and she feared that the same fate was in her son's future.

Thirty minutes later, a nurse approached them and told them that they could see Starsky for a few minutes. Both Hutch and Captain Drew declined so that Mrs. Starsky could spend some alone time with her son. With a curt nod of gratitude, the older woman followed the nurse down the hall.

As they waited for Mrs. Starsky to return from the I.C.U. the two men discussed the case in hushed tones.

"There's a state wide APB on Andy Porter. Units are watching the house in case he comes back there. And Sissy, the hooker that led you to the location, is being held in protective custody until we locate the suspect." Captain Drew filled Hutch in on the latest developments in the case.

"Did they find anything useful at the house?"

"They found evidence tying him to the other murders, newspaper clippings and a box of what appears to be 'trophies"."

Hutch nodded. Serial killers often kept trophies from their victims. A piece of jewelry, panties, other items of clothing, sometimes things even more personal, like a finger or a lock of hair.

"At least we identified him. Let's just hope we catch him before he can hurt anyone else."

"We will. We know what he looks like now. Every cop in the state knows who to look for."

"There's no way to know for sure how long he's been doing this or how many victims there are." Hutch pointed out unnecessarily.

"Not unless we capture him alive and he confesses." Captain Drew admitted.

"It'll never happen. He'll never let you take him alive." Hutch said solemnly. "And even if you do, he'll never confess.

Both men fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. One of the frustrations of their jobs was that there wasn't always a positive ending. Some cases simply were never solved. Instead they got filed away in some file cabinet with the rest of the cold cases that had accumulated over the years. Families, friends and relatives that would never get the closure they needed to move on with their lives.

Both men rose to their feet when Mrs. Starsky rejoined them. She walked with a rigid posture as if she were fighting to maintain control of her emotions.

"Can I give you a ride home?" Captain Drew offered politely.

"No, thank you." She replied "I called my brother to collect me. He should be here soon."

"If you need anything don't hesitate to give me a call." Captain Drew told her.

"Thank you, but I'm sure everything will be all right." Mrs. Starsky said in a dismissive tone. Without another word, she walked to the other side of the waiting room and sat down to wait.

Hutch and the Captain left the hospital together and walked across the parking lot to their vehicles. At the street, they turned in opposite directions as they headed to their separate destinations.

Hutch went to his hotel and straight to his room. He thought about getting a bite to eat but decided he wasn't that hungry. He was tired, the aftermath of the adrenalin surge that floods your body in a crisis situation. After a long, leisurely shower, he was ready to turn in for the night. He'd call California in the morning to fill his own Captain in on the day's events.

Just as he was ready to climb into the comfort of his bed, there was a soft rap at the door. Sighing heavily, he gave the bed a lingering glance, before walking across the room to answer the door.

"Who is it?" He asked through the closed door.

"Room service," A man's voice mumbled.

"I didn't order room service." Hutch said in an annoyed tone.

"I still have to get a signature if you're refusing." The man insisted.

Hutch sighed and reached for the knob. Several things happened simultaneously. Hutch opened the door to the sneering face of Andy Porter, a gunshot exploded, followed by what felt like a solid punch to his stomach and a deep burning pain that flared through his entire body. As his knees buckled and he fell to the floor, the darkness closing in around him, Hutch heard Porter's mocking laughter.

"You lose, detective."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Pain. Pain that seemed to be everywhere. _Was he alive…he was supposed to be dead._ That was what the man had said when he plunged the knife into his gut again and again, then left him there to drown in his own blood. He felt himself slipping back into the darkness and he went willingly, welcoming the reprieve from the pain.

Slowly, awareness returned. The pain wasn't as sharp this time. His whole body felt numbed and his mind had that pleasant floating feeling that comes with some strong narcotics. Slowly, Starsky forced his eyes open.

The room was dark, a sliver of light filtering in from the open doorway to the hall. The sounds and smells in the air told him that he was in a hospital. He wondered who had found him and how. He had resigned himself to dying alone in that crappy basement at the hands of a madman. He had harbored no illusions about any last minute rescues but, apparently he had been wrong.

He sighed softly. Even that hurt. His mouth was dry, and his throat felt like sandpaper, but he could not reach the pitcher sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. Ignoring his thirst, he began to take stock of his injuries. He could feel the tight pull of stitches on his face and remembered the man cutting him on the cheek with a razor, enjoying every moment as he slowly pulled the blade through his skin. Torturing his victims seemed to be the perp's primary goal. In his twisted mind when he finally killed them he was doing them a favor by putting them out of their misery.

The suspect enjoyed talking as he hurt his victims. Starsky learned that the perp had been severely abused as a child, both mentally and physically. Abandoned by his single mother at a young age, he had been raised in a series of foster homes where he had been beaten and eventually sexually abused.

The sexual abuse at a vulnerable age had permanently altered his perception of himself and his sexual identity. Hating the latent homosexual feelings that overwhelmed him at times, he began seeking out gays and lesbians, killing them and mutilating their private parts to remove the part of them that he hated in himself.

A nurse silently slipped into the room and crossed to the bed. She started to take Starsky's vital signs when she noticed that he was awake. With a tender smile, she said softly, "Welcome back, blue eyes. It's good to see you awake. Are you in a lot of pain?"

Starsky slowly shook his head. He could handle the pain. He hated taking the drugs to dull the pain because they also dulled his mind, making him feel lethargic and nauseated.

"Okay, handsome. I'll take your word for it. I'll let the doctor know you're awake."

She finished her job and left him alone. Starsky closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, it was daytime and sunlight was streaming through the windows. A doctor stood by the bed, writing notes in a chart. He noticed Starsky was awake and acknowledged him with a thin smile.

"Good morning, Sergeant," he said cordially. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better." Starsky said in a hoarse raspy voice.

"I'm sure you have." The doctor said. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher beside the bed and held the bent straw to Starsky's mouth. Starsky took a long draw on the straw, relishing the cool, refreshing water as it soothed his parched throat and mouth. The doctor took it away sooner than Starsky would have liked. "That's enough for now. We don't want you getting sick."

"How bad?"

"You're a lucky young man. You were almost dead when they brought you in and we almost lost you twice on the table. We managed to repair the damage, and now it's up to you to rest and heal. You have several severe lacerations, but any scarring should be minimal. Four ribs were broken, and one punctured a lung. Your kidneys were both severely bruised, and we had to remove your spleen because of internal bleeding. Two fingers are broken on your left hand along with your wrist. And you had three knife wounds to your stomach, luckily none of your vital organs were damaged. It will take awhile for your body to heal, but with rest and the proper care, you should be back on the job in six to eight weeks."

"That it?" Starsky said in a slurred voice with a crooked smile.

"Isn't that enough?" the doctor quipped. "You're lucky to be alive. You'll be in the I.C.U. for another day or so, and then we should be able to move you to a regular room."

"How long am I gonna be stuck in here?"

"I think we can have you out of here sometime next week." The doctor hung the chart back at the foot of the bed and left the room.

Starsky let himself relax back against the pillows. He hated hospitals with all the forced inactivity and lack of privacy. Not to mention the medication that left gaps in his memory and kept him drowsy most of the time. He refused it as much as he could. But, he wasn't a masochist. He was willing to take it to deal with the pain until he healed enough to handle it without the meds.

Later that afternoon, Captain Drew stopped by to bring him up to date on the case. Since he was in the I.C.U. his other visitors were restricted to his immediate family.

"Hutchinson was shot at his hotel late last night."

"What? Is he okay?"

"It was close, but it looks good. He's in a room just down the hall. It was Porter. An unidentified caller reported gunshots at his motel, and a unit arrived just after the shooting occurred. Porter never made it out of the hotel. He drew on the responding officers and they had no choice but to return fire."

"Sounds like he knew he was caught and wasn't going to let anyone take him alive."

"Sounds that way to me too. I'll need to get a formal statement from, you but that can wait a couple of days

Movement in the hall caught both men's attention. Mrs. Starsky stood there looking at them.

"I'd better go," Captain Drew said as he turned to leave the room. He nodded at Mrs. Starsky as he slipped out of the room so she could visit with her son.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked as she moved to Starsky's side and leaned down to kiss his uninjured cheek.

"I'm fine, Ma," he reassured her. "Just a little sore. That's all."

"You were lucky this time. But, what about the next time?"

"Come on, Ma. Not now. We go through this every time I get hurt on the job."

"Which is much too often! You're not as young as you used to be! How long do you intend to take so many chances?"

"It's my job, It goes with the badge. You know that."

"Yes, and I know what it feels like to lose someone because of that badge!" She held up her hand to ward off any protest that Starsky might make. "I won't go through that again. I won't!"

"I don't know what to tell you, Ma, because I ain't quitting my job."

"Then we have nothing else to talk about. I have to go. Uncle Lem is waiting for me downstairs."

Without looking back, she turned and walked out the door, leaving her eldest son alone.

Starsky sighed heavily. He was tired of having this same argument with his mother whenever he got hurt on the job. He loved being a cop. It was a major part of his identity. In the beginning his mother had understood that. She had even been proud of him for following in his father's footsteps. But, the longer he was on the job, the more paranoid she became of him ending up like his father.

They were at an impasse, and Starsky couldn't see any compromise in sight. His mother called him stubborn and hard-headed, but so was she. It seemed to be a trait that ran in the Starsky family.

Late that afternoon, he was moved to a private room on the third floor. It was ahead of the schedule the doctor had predicted earlier, but Starsky wasn't complaining. That evening, he even got a roommate. Hutchinson.

By now he knew that he owed the cop from California his life. If it hadn't been for Hutchinson, Porter would have killed him and disappeared into the wind to kill again. For that, Starsky would always be grateful. He found himself wishing the blond cop would stick around for awhile instead of heading back to California and his life there. Despite their differences, he was the closet thing to a friend Starsky had had in a long time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Pain was the first thing that Hutch was aware of. A sharp pain in his stomach that flared with the slightest movement. The second sensation that he was aware of was the numbness and foggy feeling associated with a potent pain killer. As he fought his way out of the darkness, he heard the sound of arguing voices.

"You're as stubborn as your father, David Michael Starsky!"

"I keep telling you, Ma…I'm not quitting the force, and I'm not asking to be assigned to a desk job." Hutch recognized the sound of Starsky's voice. He sounded tired and weak, but determined.

"Then you leave me no choice. If you insist on putting your life in danger like this, then I refuse to watch you do it."

"What are you saying, Ma?"

"I think it time for you to find a place of your own. Nicky and I can get along just fine without your help."

There was a long silence, and then Starsky said in a resigned but firm voice, "Fine, if that's the way it's got to be. I'll start looking for a place as soon as I get out of here."

Hutch heard the click of Mrs. Starsky's heels as she left the room. Feeling as if he was intruding on something personal, Hutch kept his eyes closed and let himself drift back into the darkness.

When he came around again, it appeared to be nighttime. It was dark outside the windows, and the lights in the room were muted and dim. Opening his eyes and glancing to his left, Hutch realized that he was in the same room with Starsky. The other man appeared to be asleep, an uneaten tray of food sitting on the bedside table.

Starsky's face was still deeply bruised with a line of stitches in his right cheek and just above his left eyebrow. His mouth was swollen, and his lower lip was split. He had an IV in his right arm and a cast on his left wrist. A hospital gown hid the wounds that Hutch knew covered Starsky's chest and back.

As if sensing that he was being watched, Starsky's eyes flew open, and he turned his head to glare at Hutch. The glare in his eyes faded as he saw that Hutch was awake.

"Hey," he said softly. "Glad to see you decided to rejoin us. You had the docs worried for while."

"How long have I been here?" Hutch asked. He cleared his throat, annoyed at the cracked sound of his voice. His hand trembled as he reached for the ice-filled glass sitting on the stand beside his bed. He sucked a small chip into his mouth, sighing in contentment as the coldness soothed his dry mouth and throat.

"They brought you in about a week ago," Starsky told him. "I was kinda out of it myself for a few days."

"Any news on the case?"

"Porter's dead. He never even made it out of the hotel after he shot you. He fired on the cops that responded, and they had no choice but to shoot back."

"Suicide by cop," Hutch muttered flatly. Some criminals when they knew they were caught chose to provoke the responding officers into shooting them and killing them. Taking the coward's way out in the end so that they would never stand trial and be punished for their crimes.

Starsky nodded. "Latest is the department thinks he set the whole thing up himself. The call about a man with a gun at the hotel came into headquarters before you were even shot."

"At least it's over. He won't be able to hurt anyone else"

"So, I guess you'll be heading back to California when you get out of here."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Do you think your department could use some new blood?"

"The department's always looking for good men," Hutch said cautiously. "Why? You thinking about a move?"

"Maybe. Not much to keep me around here anymore."

"What about your family?"

Starsky snorted. "We don't exactly see eye to eye anymore on what I do for a living. I've got an aunt and uncle that live in Bay City. They'll put me up until I can get settled."

"Sounds like a plan to me. You ever been to California?"

"Yeah, I used to visit my aunt and uncle in the summer for a couple of weeks when I was a kid. I even lived out there for a couple of months when I got home from 'Nam. I guess I should have stayed."

"Why didn't you?"

"My Ma needed me. Nicky was still just a kid, and Ma was having a hard time paying the bills on her own. So I came back to New York and joined the N.Y.P.D."

Hutch nodded. He decided not to tell Starsky about the conversation he had overheard between him and his mother. He didn't need to know, and Hutch didn't want to embarrass him or offend him.

"I know the department will be glad to have you. Hell, maybe we'll even be able to work together again sometime."

"I'd like that," Starsky said with a crooked smile. It was the first genuine smile Hutch thought that he had seen since he had met the man. "It's time for a chance. Start over. Leave the past behind."

"I hear you." Hutch couldn't blame Starsky for needing to make a chance in his life. He was an outcast in his own department, a loner with very few friends, and in a stand-off with his own family about his career. If anyone needed a change, Starsky did.

Hutch had to admit that he liked and respected the man. He was one hell of a cop. In the time he had known him, Hutch had discovered that Starsky was a complex individual with his own unique outlook on life and a strong, unshakable sense of right and wrong. He had a quick mind and a remarkable memory for details. A product of the streets, his higher education came from life, not a college degree.

Whatever the future held for both men, Hutch had a feeling that their paths would continue to intertwine and that their fledging friendship would continue to flourish. Maybe someday they would even work together again as partners. Somehow, that didn't seem like such a bad idea to Hutch. Maybe that was why they had been destined to meet when they did, brought together by circumstances beyond their control, to do what they both did best. Bring down the bad guy.

THE END


End file.
